May's Anatomy
by elleyouoh
Summary: The relationships between the doctors at Shield Memorial can be described by only one word: Complicated. Things get even messier the day Chief of Staff, Peggy Carter hires her old friend Melinda May as their new Head of Cardio. [Philinda & Kid!Skye]
1. Start Again

**Day 1:**

 _There are many people who are convinced that  
_ _first meetings are important. They determine the course  
_ _in which your future with someone will take. The first  
_ _impression you make. I think it's ridiculous. I still  
_ _believe that terrible first impressions, terrible first meetings  
_ _aren't the end of the world. Sometimes, you just have  
_ _to take a step back and say, "Okay, do you think we could just  
_ _Start Again?"_

 **A month ago-**

"Peggy, I hope you're not calling to ask how I am. Again," Melinda says, as sternly as she can possibly manage over the phone.

"Well, that wasn't the purpose of the call, but since you brought it up, how are you?"

Melinda groans, slamming her pencil down onto her desk as a laugh rings out from the other end of the line.

"What's wrong with, "I'm fine Peggy, how are you?""

"Everything. You should see the post-op notes I'm going through. I swear, the chief hates me."

She can hear Peggy laughing as she speaks, and just shakes her head. Truth be told, she was glad for these calls; they forced her to take much needed breaks.

"That's why I'm calling actually."

Melinda raises a brow.

"Have you found a way to make his murder look completely accidental, because I've been working on that for months."

They're definitely over two thousand miles apart, but still Melinda can feel Peggy's disapproving glare.

"Now I'm not so sure I want to tell you the good news anymore."

That certainly piqued her interest.

"Good news?"

"Dr. Pierce had an unfortunate run-in with an electrical pole whilst driving through a storm. He passed away just over a week ago."

"I hardly see how that constitutes as good news."

"He wasn't very popular with patients or staff. But that isn't my point. His position as Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery has opened up, and I couldn't think of anyone better for the job."

Melinda freezes as she absorbs the meaning of her friend's words. Peggy was offering her a job. That meant no more Chief Buttface and the other annoying attendings. And she would be the head of her own department. At Shield Memorial no less.

"The offer is open for six weeks. And I'll be sorely disappointed if you don't take it, because I'm vetting for you in front of the board."

There's only a short pause before Melinda responds.

"I'm typing up my letter of resignation now."

 **Present Day-**

"Settled in okay?"

Melinda allows herself a small smile as Peggy greets her at the front doors of Shield Memorial. The structure of the hospital itself was impressive, and she'd heard many of the attendings at her old hospital sing praises about their facilities.

"I've barely had a chance to unpack, but it's not as if I brought much with me."

Peggy gives her a look and gestures for her to follow as she herself begins to head towards the automatic doors.

"Sorry I couldn't give you a lift this morning; did the cab ride take long?"

Melinda shakes her head, and follows closely behind.

"We've put everything you'll need into your office, but before we get down to business, there's a young lady I know you'll want to see."

Her eyes widen slightly as she tilts her head, hand shooting out to grab Peggy's with a frown.

The look her friend is wearing is sympathetic, and Melinda turns her head away, having been on the receiving end of that particular look far too many times.

"Oh Melinda. It's not.. just come with me."

They walk in silence, the only sounds of their presence were the clicks of their heels against the floor. She tries her best to memorize every hall and room that they passed; an attempt to keep her mind from wandering into dangerous territories.

They come to a stop outside an on-call room, and Melinda eyes Peggy curiously as she reaches out a hand and knocks on the door rather loudly.

There are muffled sounds coming from within the room, and Melinda can make out the voice of a man calling for them to go away.

"Dr. Barton. I do hope you are quite finished," Peggy calls out, and there's some loud rustling before the door swings open.

The redhead standing in the doorway is a familiar face, and Melinda finds herself breaking out into a grin.

"May?!"

She's barely enough time to brace herself and is nearly knocked off her feet as Natasha Romanoff runs straight at her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"I promised that you would like the new head better than Pierce."

From between strands of red hair, Melinda can see that Peggy's smiling at the two of them.

"I'd prefer sack of flaming shit over Pierce."

Peggy frowns in disapproval at her words and Melinda finds herself suddenly able to breathe again as Natasha relinquishes her hold.

Melinda takes a moment to study her former intern. Her long red curls have been straightened out and cropped up to her shoulders, and she's now in the navy blue scrubs that marked one's status as an attending.

 _Wrinkled_ navy blue scrubs.

"I see that working as an attending hasn't changed your habits," Melinda chastises, as she wrinkles her nose at the smell of what she was now able to identify as sex.

"And you're as observant as ever."

Melinda shrugs her shoulders and tilts her head to one side, raising a brow as she does.

"Your shirt is on backwards."

The male - Dr. Barton presumably - inside the on-call room lets out a hearty laugh, as Natasha storms back inside and slams the door shut behind her.

* * *

Despite the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, Melinda feels perfectly at home strolling through the halls at Shield Memorial, with Natasha right beside her.

She supposes that hospitals are similar enough, and her new scrubs and labcoat feel no different from her old ones.

"Just take a left, the NICU is right at the end of that hall."

She nods silently as Natasha runs off down the other end of the hall-way; she had a surgery scheduled and despite her overly relaxed personality, had no intention of being late.

They'd both been paged minutes earlier, but on account of Natasha's already scheduled surgery, it fell to Melinda to answer the page.

She'd worked with newborns and operated on children back in LA, but Peggy had mentioned that Shield Memorial was popular not only for their neurosurgeons, but also their work on pediatric cases.

As she reaches the end of the hallway, she notices that the NICU is mostly empty, save for the sick infants. There are a couple of nurses checking on things, and a group of doctors surrounding a patient in one corner; all wearing pink gowns over their scrubs.

She enters the room quietly, navigating her way through the cots until she reaches the doctors huddled in the back.

"What took you so long Romanoff?"

Melinda frowns as the male doctor, who is currently checking on the newborn lying beneath a plastic hood, asks without looking up. The interns behind him are silent, save one, who lets out a snicker, and the doctor, whom Melinda assumes is the Peds attending in charge, finally straightens up and notices her.

"You're not Romanoff."

It takes every ounce of tact that she possesses for Melinda not to roll her eyes at the attractive blue eyed doctor, who is now staring at her in confusion.

"Melinda May. I'm th-," she begins, holding out a hand, which he shakes as he completes her sentence.

"- The new Head of Cardio. Of course. Phil Coulson, Head of Pediatric Surgery."

She watches him expectantly after he releases her hand, and it takes him a little longer than necessary to realise that she is waiting for the chart.

"Sorry. Here."

He hands it over to her, and she flicks through it quickly, the furrow in her brow increasing with every page she reads. HLHS cases aren't rare in comparison to come congenital heart diseases, but in her entire career to date, she's only operated on a handful of infants with the defect, and from what she can see in these notes, the prognosis is not good.

"Pierce performed the Norwood six weeks ago; he was scheduled for a second procedure in two months, but there have been some complications, and we're detecting beginning heart failure."

Melinda looks up from the charts to find Dr. Phil Coulson, Head of Pediatric Surgery watching her intently.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she frowns and shakes her head.

"I'm afraid there's no way I-"

"Don't ever tell me there's no way."

Melinda stares in shock as he raises his voice at her, and the other doctors take a step backwards.

He takes in a deep breath, raising one hand to his temple, before he speaks again.

"Trip, go round on my post-ops."

Within moments the room is silent, deserted - well nearly. The nurses are wise enough to keep themselves occupied and their gazes averted.

"I get that I'm new here," Melinda replies quietly. "But don't think for a second you can take that tone with me."

They're both tense now, standing stiffly, frowning at one another.

Neither are moving, both holding their ground, until the heart monitor beside them starts beeping erratically.

"Shit."

* * *

As she scrubs, soapy water washing away the grime from her hands, she feels a figure move up beside her, and hears the other tap turn on.

 _If I were so optimistic about life, I wouldn't have made the choices that I did._

She looks down at her hands which are now almost raw from washing and curses herself for letting her thoughts distract her.

"I'm sorry I yelled earlier. It's hard to see children so sick, and not having a solution."

Phil Coulson has finished drying up his hands, and is now staring at her with a sincere smile upon his face.

She's almost tempted to tell him that if thats the case, he picked the wrong occupation, but she holds her tongue.

"You were right though; his condition was still well enough for us to operate, and save his life."

She's mature enough to recognise her own faults and mistakes, and to apologise for her actions.

His gaze is still locked on her, and her own is directed to her hands, which are gripping the edge of the sink.

"Listen, this may be a little forward, but would you like to grab a coffee with me after rounds?"

She's looking up at him now; he's got a dopey little grin on his face, head tilted to one side as he studies her.

She closes her eyes for a second, and lets out a soft sigh.

"I've actually.. um, I've actually still got quite a bit to unpack so.."

She's let the words drift off, and immediately, his smile has fallen.

"But, maybe next time?" she offers, and his face brightens once more as he nods.

"Next time."

He holds the door open for her as they exit into the hallway; normally she'd hate that, but as they head off separately, she can feel a blush creeping its way up her cheeks.


	2. Something I Need

**Day 9:**

 _When we're children, we can't tell the difference_  
 _between what it is we want, and what it is we need._  
 _Want; it's personal desire, the act of wanting is_  
 _foolish at times. Need; that's strong, you need water to_  
 _survive, you need oxygen. Even as adults, there are_  
 _times we can't distinguish between the two. Whether_  
 _that is something I want, or something I need, because_  
 _the lines can be blurred, and love, companionship, it can be both._

"Next round's on me!"

Melinda's watching warily as Maria Hill, one of the general attendings, teeters drunkenly towards the bar, a stack of bills in one hand and an empty shot glass in the other.

They're out at the bar across the street from the hospital, a couple of the female attendings.

'A ladies night,' Natasha had proclaimed earlier, grabbing her arm and practically dragging her out from her office before she had a chance to decline the invitation.

She's been working at the hospital for a only little over a week now, but already finds herself fitting right in with other members of staff. They operate well together, and not just while in surgery. Shield Memorial has a highly functioning organisation system, and Melinda wonders again and again how she survived back at her old hospital.

Even the attending's lounge is fancier here, and fully stocked with 'necessities' to help them get through long shifts.

Melinda's not entirely sure how the whiskey, hidden in a secret compartment behind the cleaning supplies, is going to be of great help to anyone, even after Natasha insists that it's done it's share in helping save lives.

She now knows why Maria and Natasha, who by all means appear to be the laziest of all the attendings, volunteer to wash up when Peggy is around.

However, they're all off the clock now, and not within hospital premises any longer, so they're free to drink as much as they please. Which is exactly what the rest of the occupants of the bar have been doing since their arrival.

Melinda's wary about getting intoxicated though, especially in public places, and has been slowly sipping at a glass of ice tea, just enjoying the company of her coworkers.

Beside her, Natasha is downing what appears to be her fifth or sixth shot of vodka, with no visible signs of being drunk. It doesn't surprise Melinda at all; she'd caught Natasha multiple times during her intern days, doing up post-op notes with half a dozen or so empty beer cans littering her workspace.

The two neuro attendings, Vic and Bobbi, as Natasha had introduced to her on her first day, were currently DIY bartending, and mixing together a variety of drinks that they'd collected from the bar.

The only one from their 'group' who is missing is Peggy, who is back at the hospital working.

Trip is here though.

Sure, Natasha had said 'ladies night'.

But the moment she had spied Trip heading to his car in the parking lot, she'd slung an arm around his shoulders and invited him to the party.

"Everyone is friends with Trip; you should see how nice the nurses are to him."

And that was that.

As she nods along to the conversations of her fellow doctors, and rolls her eyes at the wolf whistles directed at Maria, who is currently sauntering back towards their table with a tray full of drinks, she finds her thoughts drifting.

Drifting to one co-worker in particular.

She and 'Dr. Phil Coulson, Head of Pediatrics', haven't really had a chance to hold a conversation for longer than five seconds since their argument and subsequent apologies on her first day.

She's passed him in the halls a couple times, between rounds and surgeries, and they've even sat at the same table for lunch - but of course the rest of the attendings had been present also, and Natasha had demanded close to all of Melinda's attention. No surprise there.

"May. Your ass is beeping."

Snapping back to the present, Melinda is acutely aware of how Maria's ear is right up against her thigh, eyes comedicly wide as she holds a finger to her lips, shushing everyone.

She's about to tell Maria that she's had way too many drinks, when she realises that it's her pager that's going off. It takes her another moment to realise all of their pagers are going off.

911.

This was the life of a surgeon.

She quickly downs the rest of her drink in one go, placing the glass back onto the table and slinging her handbag over one shoulder as she hops off the barstool.

Natasha appears as though she's about to follow, until Melinda gives her a stern look.

"You think I'm going to let you treat a patient with half a bottle of vodka in your system? You can handle things here,"- she turns her head and eyes Maria warily- "and I'll deal with the hospital."

* * *

The ER is a bloody mess when Melinda enters nearly fifteen minutes later, having stopped by her office to change.

There are residents scrambling around, interns flocking behind them, all trying to get their hands on the 'coolest surgical cases', and as annoyed as Melinda is, she remembers a time not too long ago when she did the same.

"Dr. May."

Dr.- formally Captain- Rogers, is waving her over to the ER nurses station, and she narrowly misses being run into by interns and gurneys at least three times before she's standing beside him, pulling on a yellow gown.

She's reaching behind to tie up the back when a pair of hands stop her. They're large, male, and she feels an involuntary shiver run down her spine when his fingers brush against the skin on the back of the neck as he fastens up the tie.

"Thank you," she says, turning to find herself practically face to chest with Phil Coulson.

She shuffles back a little; he's wearing that same smile again, and she finds herself staring into his eyes. How could anyones' be so incredibly blue?

"I thought you weren't working tonight, but I'm glad you are."

He's flirting, but they're standing in the middle of the ER, and she's trying to be as professional as possible.

"Well you know, emergencies take precedence over sleep."

She's so thankful that she stood her ground all seven times Maria and Natasha had tried to offer her alcohol earlier.

He's opening his mouth to respond when a loud cough comes from behind her, and she turns to find that Dr. Captain Rogers is watching them, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"Um sorry, I don't want to interrupt anything, but there's an ambulance two minutes out, and Dr. Banner, he's at bed four, needs a cardio consult."

Melinda nods, slipping back into work mode as he points towards the bed furthest from them.

"I guess I'll see you later then."

* * *

Melinda's been awake for almost 48 hours now - with only one to two hour naps in between, and she's exhausted.

There had been a five car pile up somewhere -the name escapes her now- and Shield Memorial, as the closest hospital, received all the cases. The ER was over-crowded and the ORs overbooked; a couple of the second and third year residents were assisting in surgeries way above their level on a account of the missing attendings.

She has the next day off, well technically it's already past midnight, so she has 'today' off, and it's a small comfort to know she'll be able to sleep in. The alcohol should be drained from Natasha's system by then, and she and the other cardio attendings can deal with whatever comes in.

She's heading on up towards her office to collect her things when she hears a familiar voice from one of the patients rooms.

She pauses outside the room and listens as Phil Coulson speaks to his patient's husband, likely explaining the procedures completed and what to expect during the recovery period. She doesn't catch much of what he actually says, instead closing her eyes and appreciating how soothing and calming his voice could be.

"Spying on me are we?"

She forces her eyes open and finds him leaning on the wall beside her, appearing just as exhausted as she.

"I thought you were Dr. Phil Coulson, Head of Pediatric Surgery," she says, lowering her voice; trying to match his.

He laughs at her feeble attempt and she smiles at him.

"Adults are just bigger versions of children. And it's just Phil to you."

She rolls her eyes at him and he just shrugs.

"So, we're both off now. How about we go get that drink?"

It's her turn to giggle and his face lights up at the sound.

"I believe I promised we could grab coffee. Which is definitely not what I need if I hope to fall asleep any time soon."

As much as she wants to accept his offer, she is already having trouble keeping her eyes open, and Peggy is more than likely waiting upstairs to give her a lift home.

His expression screams disappointment, and he's biting his lip and all Melinda wants to do is go over and give him a hug, but that's really not her style.

"Next time?"

He's looking at her with so much hope in those deep blue eyes, and she feels her cheeks heating up. Why does she keep doing that in his presence?

"Next time. I promise."

And with that, she reaches over and squeezes his hand, warm, just like the day they had met, before letting go and heading down the hall.

"Goodnight Dr. May."

She's almost at the end of the corridor, preparing to turn a corner, but she stops and turns back to him.

"Melinda," she corrects.

"Goodnight Melinda."

"Goodnight, Just Phil."


	3. Barbie Girl

**Day 14:**

 _"I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world."_  
 _Seriously, like do people forget about_  
 _Barbie's boyfriend Ken? He's clearly_  
 _as obsessive with his looks as she is,_  
 _looks that aren't too particularly natural,_  
 _more than likely achieved via some form of_  
 _plastic surgery._

"Melinda!"

It's nearly eight in the morning, and she's just finished rounding on her patients; two residents and their interns following closely behind.

So closely, that when she suddenly stops in her tracks at the sound of her name, they nearly walk straight into her. She turns at glares at them, and they all shuffle closer together and further away from her; she can hear them whispering, and catches the words "Melinda Mayhem."

I see Natasha's been spreading rumours about me.

Rolling her eyes, she turns back around and Phil's there, grinning as he hands her a coffee cup decorated with their hospitals logo.

"I told you that you didn't have to keep bringing me coffee in the morning," she says in mock annoyance as she begins down the hall with him by her side, her residents and interns following a safe distance behind.

"Well, you kept turning me down, so I thought the only way we would be able to get that drink was if I brought it to you," he says, gently bumping her shoulder as they walk.

She just shakes her head at him, and holds her breath as she takes a large gulp, internally cringing as the aroma of coffee fills her senses.

He takes a sip of his and sighs blissfully and she's tempted to just give the drink he handed her back, because she hates it and he seems to love it.

"You coming to Natasha's party next week?"

"Natasha's party? Isn't it your birthday? And Steve's?" she jokes, laughing until she turns and sees the expression he's wearing.

The look he's giving her is the most annoyed she's seen appear on his face; she knows the feeling and almost regrets teasing him. Almost.

"Come on, I thought you of all people would be excited for your birthday," she says, nudging his arm, and he sighs, almost dramatically.

"It's just that every birthday that passes means I'm another year older; two more and I'll be forty!"

She giggles at how ridiculous he's being.

"So you'll be thirty-eight in a couple of days. That's hardly old."

He pouts and it's the most adorable expression that she's seen, on a grown man no less.

"Easy for you to say. You're all young and what-" he pauses and leans in closer, squinting, pretending to study her face- "like a teenager."

She slaps his arm playfully.

"Thirty, but thanks."

They continue their light hearted banter until his pager goes off, and he rushes off to tend to a patient; She can finally concentrate on working, ignoring the whispers of the interns as they trade gossip and rumours.

* * *

"Anything you want to say?" Natasha asks as she drops down into the seat beside Melinda, sliding a trayful of food onto the table.

"Yep. I don't know why you always insist on bothering me at lunch. Your boyfriend is right there," Melinda says, pointing in the direction of Clint Barton with her plastic fork, a cherry tomato speared on the end.

"Firstly, he's not my boyfriend. Secondly, he has lunch with the male Barbies."

Melinda looks at her with a raised brow - "The male Barbies?"

Natasha nods.

"The plastic surgeons. If you want to keep your IQ and surgical skills, you do not want to have lunch with the plastics. I swear Stark spends half the hour checking out his own reflection with his phone."

"Are we talking about the male barbies?" Maria says, her question coming out more like a statement as she slides into the seat on the other side of Melinda. "Because Ward stood by a metal trash can for like, what five minutes yesterday, fixing his hair."

They're all staring at the four males sitting together at a table in the corner of the hospital cafeteria, and Melinda glances over each man. They appear to be having a regular conversation, just four co-workers having lunch together; but she suspects the topic in debate is one she'd rather not know.

"Ugh! Hunter keeps staring at my boobs. That ass."

Bobbi slams her tray down in front of them, successfully capturing their attention and angrily takes a seat, turning to shoot a glare at anyone who dares to stare in their direction.

"Well maybe if you don't-" Maria begins as she leans over the table and does up the top three buttons on Bobbi's shirt "- parade around dressed like a slut, he won't have any reason to look."

"You're one to talk. How many of the male nurses have you screwed this month alone?"

"Fuck you."

"No thanks. Don't know what STDs you've got crawling around down there."

Melinda doesn't know if she'll ever be accustomed to the 'playful' banter between her workmates, and just sits and eats her salad as the two continue on with their conversation.

"So. I heard the most interesting thing today after rounds. One of my little intern spies says that they saw you drinking coffee this morning. With Phil. And that you were laughing at his lame jokes. Care to elaborate?"

Natasha has a mischievous glint in her eyes, her head resting on her hands, elbows propped up on the table.

"I don't know what you're talking about. And the interns would never spy on me for you; not after you scared them off with all that Melinda Mayhem nonsense." Melinda responds, not concerned in the slightest, holding up her palm in front of Natasha's face as the younger woman opens her mouth to object.

"And don't even try to deny it; you invented that name three days into your first year, right after I put you on scut for week"

Natasha lets out a loud huff, frowning at Melinda.

"You ruin all the fun. Fine. Clint's been passing me the info. He says Phil hasn't stopped talking about you since you got here."

Melinda can feel her face reddening as Natasha speaks and almost looks away in embarrassment. Sure she hasn't been in a proper relationship, in well, ever, but she's known Phil for less than half a month, and he's already breaking through her shell.

"I've known you for what, six years. We spent two of those years practically glued to one another - and I'd never heard so much as a whisper of even a casual fling. And now you're here and shacking up with Phil?"

It's probably childish, but Melinda drops her fork and presses her hands up against her ears, pretending that she can't hear any of Natasha's words. Her friend eventually gives up and goes back to her own food, casually sneaking glances over to Clint 'not her boyfriend' Barton.

* * *

"I thought you said that you had a major surgery in half an hour," Melinda says, as she follows Maria through the halls, almost struggling to keep up with her.

"I do."

They stop outside one of the many on-call rooms and Melinda watches in confusion as Maria proceeds to remove a bobby pin from her hair, morphing the shape and easing it into the lock.

"What the hell are you doing?" Melinda whispers, eyes wide, focusing her gaze at where Maria is silently picking the lock.

There's a very soft click and Maria grin's triumphantly, holding a finger to her lips to signal Melinda to stay quiet. Before she has any time to react, Maria takes a step back and kicks open the door.

"Fucking hell Hill, you bitch!"

Melinda finds herself breaking into laughter as Maria begins to almost hyperventilate from the amount of amusement that her actions have garnered.

Natasha and Clint appear to be very much nude, scrubs strewn across the room, and a thin bedsheet barely covering the two of them. Within seconds, Clint has gotten up, holding a pillow over himself as he heads over to the door and slams it shut.

Maria's cackles echo through the entire hallway.

* * *

"Could you pass the chocolate?"

Melinda tries her best to ignore the residents sitting in the row behind her, trading snacks as they wait for the surgery in the operating room below to begin.

Maria didn't go into the specifics, but she had assured Melinda that she would 'enjoy the show'.

As Maria strolls into the OR followed by Natasha and Clint, Melinda understands the hidden meaning behind Maria's words.

The surgery is major, but standard, and without complications, should take four hours to complete. Whilst Melinda prefers her OR to be mostly silent during procedures, she quickly realises this isn't the case for Maria.

"So I'm going to thrust the clamp into the body cavity.."

"I'm stretching the opening now.."

"Don't be afraid to stick it in a little deeper…"

She's having trouble keeping her calm composure as Maria's words come through the comms installed in the wall. She can't make out Natasha and Clint's replies, but from their expressions, they appear to be more than a little annoyed.

"Apply suction. Yep, suck it a little harder.."

There are loud snickers and cheers and clapping from behind Melinda each time Maria makes a comment, and she's about to turn around to tell them to keep it down when someone takes the seat beside her.

"Dr. May."

"Chief Fury. Surprising to see you here."

The Chief of Surgery is sitting beside her, and they're both watching as Maria continues to torment Clint and Natasha, the latter of whom as her hands buried wrist deep in a patient's chest, trying to fix their heart.

"Maria paged me. Something about a show."

Melinda doesn't know how appropriate it is for two attendings, one of them being the Chief of Surgery no less, to be lounging around listening as one of their co-workers shoots out sexual innuendos like machine gun over a patient open on an operating table.

"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this one."

Well, evidently the notion of boundaries don't exist Shield Memorial.


	4. Maps

**Day 23:**

 _For the longest time, well ten years, give or take,_  
 _I didn't believe in fate. That it was destined for_  
 _an event to occur, for two people to meet._  
 _But then I was proved wrong. If you imagine your_  
 _life upon a map; as a path. That path will meet_  
 _others, and one day, eventually,_  
 _merge with another._

Melinda's finishing up with the last of her paperwork when there's a knock on her door.

Peggy had told her earlier during the day that she would be by after rounds to pick her up for 'Natasha's' party.

So when the door swings open and she's standing there, dressed for a night out, Melinda's not surprised.

She is surprised however, to see that Peggy isn't alone.

Dr. Captain Rogers is right behind her, hands in his pockets and a friendly smile plastered on his face.

"You ready to go?"

Melinda does her best to keep her eyebrows at a normal level as she switches off her desktop, and grabs her bag from the ground where she had dropped it earlier. Walking towards the door, she turns back briefly to check that everything is in order, before switching the lights off and exiting, locking her office behind her.

"Explain?" she whispers to Peggy, as the three of them begin to make their way out to the car park.

Dr. Captain Rogers is a couple of steps ahead, keys jingling as he whistles a tune that Melinda can't quite place.

"Steve is afraid that Natasha will ambush him if he's left alone in her presence, so he waited for us. You know, to protect him from her."

They share a laugh at their friend's antics and Peggy proceeds to tell Melinda about a case that had come in earlier in the day. She's wrapping up her story when they reach the car, and Dr. Captain Rogers is opening the door for them and ushering them in.

As he pulls out of the parking space less than a minute later and switches on the radio, humming along to the song that's playing; Peggy is shaking her head in the back seat, Melinda thinks she can get used to spending time with friends.

* * *

It's barely seven in the evening, but the party is in full swing when they arrive, and as Natasha drags them into the room, Melinda is nearly swallowed by the crowd.

The amount of young women that Natasha has managed to cram into Dr. Captain Roger's penthouse apartment is almost unbelievable. Even with the air conditioner and fans on, Melinda finds herself taking off her jacket after spending just minutes inside.

The speakers are blaring; there's a pretty fancy bar set-up in one corner, and a table full of food in another. Red, white and blue streamers and party lights have been hung along the walls, and a garish disco ball is hanging above a makeshift dance floor, reflecting light all around the room.

Melinda can hardly imagine what this apartment looks like normally, thanks to Natasha's redecorating, and wonders for a brief moment where the rest of furniture has vanished to.

Looking around the room as she observes her surroundings, Melinda is relieved to see some familiar faces at least. Bobbi and Maria are by the bar, each with a drink in their hand as they watch the crowd of people grinding it out to the music.

"I'm surprised to see you're not dancing Maria," Melinda says, as she accepts a coke from Vic, who appears to be having a blast serving drinks.

"Only eligible bachelorettes who want a piece of Steve are allowed," Maria responds, rolling her eyes. "Nat's been trying to set him up with a girl since she met him; apparently he hasn't gotten any action since before he left to join the army."

Melinda eyes the crowd warily as she takes a sip from her glass, not recognising any of the girls.

There are very few men in the room, Melinda realises as she takes a more serious look around. A couple of the other department heads, Thor from Ortho, Bruce from Neuro and Stark from Plastics are chatting away on the far left of the room, appearing to show no interest at all to the plethora of 'single ladies' around. She can only assume Natasha threatened them to keep away to give Steve his best shot possible.

One song ends and another begins, and the crowd stills as Natasha drags Steve into the centre, and forces him to start dancing with some of the girls, slipping out before she herself, is trapped amongst the sweaty bodies.

"Aren't I great?"

Natasha's grinning from ear to ear as she joins them by the bar and empties a shot of tequila in the blink of an eye.

"How did you even find so many girls?"

"I have my methods."

* * *

Only an hour has passed, but it feels like a lifetime, and Melinda is seriously considering giving up on her plan to stay sober the entire evening.

The pace hasn't slowed down one bit, and Maria is now red-faced and dangerously close to passing out. Clint has taken over the role of the bartender, and Natasha has her hands full trying to keep Hunter away from the girls.

Melinda is leaning against a wall next to Peggy, who is drinking from a glass that was moments ago, filled to the brim, with rum.

Steve is dancing awkwardly with a young blonde, apparently having no idea what to do with his hands as she runs hers all over him. Seconds later she's pulling him down for a very public make out session, his arms flailing slightly as she does, and Melinda feels a touch of second hand embarrassment for him.

She sneaks a glance over to Peggy; her friend is tense, knuckles white from how tight she is gripping her glass, a deep crease between her brows and her lips pursed.

Well, someone's a little jealous.

Melinda can imagine she would be too, if it were Phil out there with all those girls, which is ridiculous, because that is not something she should be thinking about.

She hasn't even seen him the past three days; the morning coffee drop offs had stopped, and as much as it pained her physically to drink a whole cup every morning, she would gladly endure it so long as he kept up his visits.

She's acutely aware of how juvenile her thoughts are; he had been flirting with her - and she's the one that turned him down twice. It's entirely possible that he's given up, just like any normal person would do.

She hasn't even seen him all evening, which is strange, because Natasha had mentioned to her when they arrived that he was already there, before wiggling her eyebrows and giving Melinda a suggestive wink.

She doesn't bother excusing herself when she slips away to search for a bathroom, because Peggy's glaring at the blonde from earlier so intensely, Melinda fears the girl's head may catch fire.

* * *

The rest of the apartment appears to be quite simple, from what Melinda has observed on her journey to the bathroom. As she exits, wiping her hands on her jeans, preparing to head back out into the war zone, she feels someone move up behind her.

Before she has time to react, a hand clamps over her mouth and she is being dragged into a room down the hall.

She's released as the lights switch on and the door closes, and she spins around, ready to hit her abductor.

Phil catches her first with his hand a split second before it makes contact with his face, and she slaps him on the arm with her free hand instead.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Because by now, Natasha's probably way too drunk to save my life."

He laughs as he releases her hand, rubbing at the spot where she had hit him.

"I didn't realise you were so violent," he says, grabbing her wrist loosely, pulling her over to a couch on one side of the room and dragging her to sit down beside him.

"Well you, could have scared me to death,'" she responds, poking him in the chest with each word.

"For someone reason I don't believe you. And even if I had, I would have performed CPR,' he says, and she rolls her eyes in mock annoyance.

They fall into a comfortable silence for a while, just sitting together in what appears to be some sort of study. It's obvious to her why Phil's been hiding out in here- the atmosphere outside is insane.

"I haven't seen you around the hospital these past few days..," Melinda says, softly nudging Phil's leg with her foot, tilting her head to look up at him.

"You should have told me you didn't like coffee; I was so embarrassed after Natasha did." he responds, brushing his knee against hers. "You didn't have to drink it you know."

He has a smile on his face again, this one's different, it's more bashful than she's seen, and she imagines the one she's wearing is similar.

"I know."

He's watching her with the most adorable expression, and she feels a warmth spreading around her under his gaze. "How about I return the favour and buy you a drink?"

"You do realise that you don't have to pay for drinks here right."

They both laugh as she shakes her head.

"I meant that we could slip out, go somewhere that's not run by a crazy drunken redhead."

She anticipates the response before he even has the chance to make it, and supposes that it's his go at turning her down.

"It's getting late, and I promised my daughter that we'd celebrate tonight," he places a hand over hers' as he speaks, eyes lighting up at the worddaughter.

She knew Phil had a child, but he'd never brought it up in their conversations, so she'd never asked. But judging from the expression on his face, it is quite clear to her that they share a close relationship.

"I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, not accepting the apology.

"Don't be ridiculous Phil," she says, rising up from couch and offering her hand to drag him up. "It's almost 8:30, you should head on home."

He smiles at her like she's the sun, and takes her hand in his as they make their way out of the room, through the party-goers, and outside into the hallway. They're fortunate that only other person who lives on this floor happens to be Natasha, proud owner of the apartment across the hall, or else there was a high possibility of police showing up in a couple of hours.

"Pass me your phone."

He does as he's told and watches her intently as she enters her name and number into his contact details, smiling when she hands it back to him.

She hasn't been this bold in a very long time; heck, she's never actively sought a relationship before, but Phil, he's different.

Wishing she'd taken a shot of vodka earlier, just for the courage, she leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek, letting her lips linger for a moment before softly whispering in his ear.

"Happy Birthday, Phil."


	5. Count on Me

**Day 28:**

I _t's easy to misjudge people if you don't give yourself the opportunity to get to know them._  
 _Having a misconception about someone can ruin a potentially great friendship._  
 _I like to think that everyone is dependable, as long as you are willing to reciprocate._  
 _It's all about give and take. There's that moment when you realise you can rely_  
 _on them, you can trust and you say,_  
 _"Hey, you know what? You can count on me too."_

 _[5:42 am] melindaaa- are you awake yet?_

 _I am now [5:43 am]_

 _[5:45 am] :( sorry!_

 _Now that you've woken me up, maybe you'd like to tell me why [5:48am]_

 _[5:51 am] im bored. theres nothing to do here_

 _Aren't you supposed to be on call right about now? [5:53 am]_

 _[5:54 am] theres still 6 minutes till i can go home. 6 minutes._

 _Really, Phil? [5:55 am]_

 _[5:56 am] and i miss you. its so boring when youre not around_

Melinda never imagined she'd be the girl sitting up in bed at strange hours, smiling stupidly whilst receiving texts from the boy she liked. But here she is at thirty, blushing as she responds to messages from Phil.

If it had been anyone else, she would have thrown her phone at the wall and then yelled at them the next chance she had, just for waking her up.

Go home and get some sleep. I'll see you tonight. x. [6:00am]

[6:01am] okay see you then :)

Placing her phone back onto her nightstand, Melinda pulls away her covers and slowly gets out of bed. The bright summer sun is already up, but her curtains catch most of the light, and for that, she's more than thankful. Waking up with rays of sunlight streaming across your face is nowhere near as pleasant as they make it out to be in the movies.

The wooden floorboards are cool under her feet as she moves around her bedroom, preparing for the long day ahead. Steve is swinging by to give her a lift in just under an hour, because Peggy's already at the hospital, and Melinda is seriously considering purchasing a car.

Because the move to D.C. had been so sudden, she'd left her old car behind in California. She didn't even have the time to find someone to rent her apartment, before packing up the necessities and flying across the country.

Moving from L.A to D.C had been impulsive on her part, but the job offer was enticing, and Peggy was an old friend. An old friend who had not only procured her a new career opportunity, but also a place to stay and someone to turn to if things got tough.

Melinda's still not entirely sure why Peggy owns three apartments within a one mile radius, but she doesn't ask.

* * *

When Melinda pops in to the Attendings' Lounge to grab a drink from the fridge after rounds, she's surprised to see many of her coworkers sitting around the coffee table, and a pile of ten, twenty, fifty and hundred dollar bills lying between them.

"Do I even want to know what's happening in here?"

Clint flashes her a grin as he types something up on his tablet, and Natasha pats the empty spot between her and Thor on the couch.

"We're betting on how long it'll take Morse and Hunter to get back together," Clint says as he moves the pile of money towards him and begins to count. "You want in?"

Honestly, with all the other strange things that go on at this hospital, Melinda's not too shocked about this particular one.

Melinda's about to respond when Maria strolls into the room, and squeezes herself down between Trip and Mack, the ortho attending. Sticking her hand beneath her lab coat, she fishes out a fifty dollar bill and throws it at Clint.

"50 bucks says they'll be back to screwing around in on call rooms by the 23rd."

Clint's entering her bet onto his device, and adding her money to the rest, double checking to ensure that he has not made any errors.

"Is this an activity that happens frequently?" Melinda turns to Natasha, before looking around at the other occupants of the room, and gestures at the money.

"Well, every time they break up, we bet on how long it'll take them to get back together-." Natasha begins, leaning back with a satisfied smile.

"And every time they get back together, we bet on how long it'll take them to break up again," Clint says as he begins to stash the money into an A4 envelope. "I keep the books and Hill does surveillance, you know, to determine the 'status' of the relationship."

Sexual activity around the hospital, purposely interrupting said activity, sexual innuendos in the operating room following interruptions, betting on co-workers' break-ups and make-ups; Melinda is genuinely curious as to whether they have time after all this to actually save lives.

"And Peggy and Fury are fine with all-" she casts her gaze down at the envelope and tablet lying in front of them- "this."

"Peggy's got a hundred on the 26th. Fury's not playing this round - he lost two hundred last time, and his wallet is still recovering."

Melinda struggles to keep her laugh down as she reaches into the pocket of her pants and fishes out a fifty dollar bill, generally reserved for emergencies, and slides it over to Clint.

"Fifty on the 29th."

* * *

"Dr. May, don't you look fetching today."

Melinda ducks as Tony Stark, the leader of the male barbies, attempts to put his arm over her shoulder.

"Dr. Stark."

There's an evident tone of warning in her words, but he just smirks and she restrains herself from wiping the expression off his face with her right fist because it could make holding a scalpel later on in the day rather difficult.

"You needed a cardio consult?"

Realising that he probably isn't going to get any sort of reaction from her, Tony grabs the chart and passes it over, switching into professional plastic surgeon mode as he runs Melinda through his surgical procedures.

As much as his overbearing personality appears to irk most of the attendings, Melinda has to admit that Tony is skilled in his field. He's planning a facial reconstruction for a young boy who is to have a tumor removed from one side of his face; and he has evidently paid attention to the patient files.

"When are you planning to operate?"

The boy's heart isn't as strong as they're hoping for, and now there's a matter of whether the removal of the tumor and the facial reconstruction will happen over two longer surgeries, or a series of shorter ones.

Having no desire to put him under anesthesia and operate over a period of time, Bobbi had suggested bringing in someone from cardio to monitor his heart and restart it if it became necessary. After reviewing the patient history, Melinda most definitely agrees with Bobbi's proposition.

"The first surgery is scheduled for this afternoon at five."

"Page Natasha and tell her to meet you in there. I have something else to attend to.

* * *

"Remind me again why I agreed to help you on this."

She and Maria are sitting in a corner table at the cafeteria, quietly observing the new flock of interns eating lunch together. They're fresh out of medical school, wide eyed and clueless as to the real world, and it's quite amusing to watch.

"Because I hate interns. Especially on their first day. New interns are the worst."

Melinda is about to respond when one of the side doors open and Phil walks in. He looks around for a moment before he sees them and makes his way over.

"Why does Maria look like she's a hawk about to eat the new interns?" he asks as he sits down beside Melinda and takes her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

"She's doing the intern appy tonight," Melinda responds, and he nods knowingly.

"Picked your guy yet?"

They watch the interns for a moment, and Melinda's looking carefully over each of them. There really is no telling how their surgical skills are without seeing them in the operating room. There's loud jeering and laughter, and Melinda turns to the other end of the table to find one of the interns, a boy with curly brown hair and a baby face, has opened up a can of soda and spilled it all over himself.

Melinda looks over at Maria and finds her smiling- well, there's no other way to put this- evilly.

"I have now. Man, this kid will probably wet his pants in the OR"

Melinda and Phil are both shaking their heads softly as Maria gets up and heads over to the 'intern table'. They grow silent as she nears, all anticipating her choice. Melinda can almost feel the shock radiating off them as Maria clamps a hand down onto the shoulder of the boy drenched in orange soda.

"As you all know, the honor of performing the first surgery is reserved for the intern that shows the most promise. Fitz, you're scrubbing in with me for an appendectomy this evening."

The intern, 'Fitz', who still has soda dripping from his hands, his pale blue scrubs stained orange, looks even more shocked than his companions, who all begin to badger him as Maria walks away from the table and back towards Melinda and Phil.

"I leave you two for what, five seconds and you're already cosying up," she says as she reaches them, picking up her water bottle and coat as she makes gagging noises, before heading towards an exit.

Melinda turns to Phil, and he's doing the same, and their noses brush for a split second before they both jump back slightly. His arm had somehow wound it's way around to the back of her chair, and she had leaned into his side without either of them noticing.

He quickly removes his arm, and his face has adopted a reddish hue and she can't help it as she reaches over takes his hand and slowly lets their fingers lace together.


	6. Dark Side

**Day 35:**

 _Everybody has their secrets. Things that they keep_  
 _to themselves, or share only with those closest to them._  
 _Secrets about the past, to me, those are the scariest._  
 _You keep them bottled up, hidden away, as if they are a_  
 _dark side to you, one that you're afraid others can't accept._

It's nearly nine in the morning and Melinda's been up for close to two hours now. She spent the first hour reading through some patient files, and the second practically ransacking her closet for something to wear.

She had the entire day off, a luxury that didn't come too often, and sleeping in until seven was most definitely a rarity. Peggy had invited her out for brunch at a little book and coffee shop hybrid, and it's only now that Melinda realises she has nothing to wear for that sort of environment.

She has dress shirts in several variations, styles and colours, and a large selection of pants and skirts for work. A couple of jackets, mostly leather, and half a dozen monochromatic blazers reserved for important meetings or interviews.

But comfortable clothing for a day off? She has almost nothing to choose from and sets herself a mental reminder to agree to tag along with Natasha the next time she decides to go shopping.

Sighing, she reaches into the back of her wardrobe and pulls out a two-layered cream coloured dress, either silk or satin on the bottom, she doesn't know the difference, and lace over top. She's pretty sure that her mother bought it for her, for some function probably almost fifteen years back, and she doesn't know why she brought it along with her, because she hasn't worn it since then.

Stripping off her tank top and leggings, Melinda slips the dress on, and reaches around the back to zip it up. It's a little tighter around the bust area than she remembers, and as a result, a little shorter than it could be, but it still appears to fit her fine.

Smoothing down the front, she slides the wardrobe closed and inspects herself in the mirror that makes up the door. Alright, it's even shorter in the back, and she'd rather it weren't, but Peggy will be by soon and she's not bothered, nor does she have the time, to look for another outfit.

She's finished with her make-up and is slipping on a pair of red flats, the same shade as her lipstick, when the doorbell rings. Grabbing her purse from her bed and sticking her phone inside, Melinda hurries through the apartment to the door, and opens it up.

"You know you could just let yourself in. You have a key."

Peggy's outfit screams sophistication as usual, a white dress shirt paired with a floral skirt and strappy sandals.

"I don't know what they teach you here in America, but in England, it's customary to ring the doorbell or knock, and wait for someone to let you in," Peggy responds, and her voice is dead serious, but the playful expression in her eyes shows that she is making a joke.

"You have dual citizenship. You're by all means part American," Melinda jibes as she steps out into the hall beside Peggy and locks the door behind them.

"Where's Steve?" she asks, looking up and down the hallway and then back to Peggy, who had mentioned a couple days ago that Steve was coming along with them - it was his favourite shop, and he too had a day off.

"He's waiting in the car. And it's the British part that counts."

* * *

There's an odd sort of tension in the air - it's constricting, uncomfortable, and Melinda cautiously peers over the worn out copy of Emma she is only half reading at this point.

They're sitting around an old wooden table, carved with intricate patterns and painted white. Melinda and Peggy each have a steaming cup of tea sitting in front of them, and Steve is on his second mug of coffee.

There's an elegant metallic stand between the three of them, half-filled with finger sandwiches, french pastries and sweets. The scones are all gone, the only remnants are the crumbs all over Peggy's plate.

To a stranger, they appear to be three friends individually enjoying a brunch whilst sitting together, but Melinda knows better. Peggy's angrily thumbing through a book titled How to Kill Your Husband (and other handy household hints), and Steve's got a copy of How to talk to Women, and appears to be taking notes on a small worn out leather bound notebook he brought along.

Melinda doesn't know whether she should be amused or concerned. Peggy and Steve have a very long history, just as long and much likely deeper than the one she and Peggy shared.

She and Peggy had met in Melinda's final year of medical school, when Peggy was a third year resident on exchange from the UK, and occasionally doing demonstrations for their classes. Melinda was several years younger than the rest of her class; she had found she didn't particularly fit in, and kept herself pretty much secluded from the other students.

Peggy had been there for her when she was at the biggest crossroad of her life, stood by her, through what she still considers the hardest nine months of her life, and held her hand afterwards whilst everyone else was busy passing their judgements.

But Peggy and Steve had met a year before that, when she was getting field medic experience in Iraq. Steve had been stationed there at the time, and Melinda doesn't know much more about their history, only that Peggy played a huge part in Steve becoming a trauma surgeon after his tour ended.

They've probably been through a lot worse together than Melinda can even imagine, but here they are, sitting in a little library/cafe clearly annoyed with one another.

Well, Peggy's clearly ticked off at Steve.

Steve just looks confused.

* * *

"Hey, wow..you look..wow."

Phil wants to smack himself on the head as he rises and pulls out a chair for Melinda before going back to his own seat. She just smiles prettily at his bumbling words, appearing as though she doesn't have a single problem with his lack of eloquence and coherence.

"Thank you."

He shakes his head and smiles, concentrating.

"What I meant to say was that you looked beautiful. The nerve connection from my brain to my tongue must be in danger of severing. Or there could be a tumor pressing up against my frontal lobe."

His joke is terrible, but her eyes light up and she laughs like its the funniest thing she's ever heard.

"We'll just have to get Bruce to give you an MRI then,' she responds, still smiling widely.

The waitress has just arrived at their table to take their orders, and has likely caught the last snippets of their conversation, because her expression is of both confusion and judgement.

It's not really her fault though; most regular customers don't discuss medicine related topics over lunch. It's likely she is new, because this diner is two only blocks down from Shield Memorial and frequented by hospital staff on their breaks, and most of the workers here have adapted to it.

Melinda's never visited this diner before, but Phil comes here often enough, so she lets him order for her. He quickly scans the menu, which he had ignored up to this point, and picks the 'Four Seasons Salad' for them to share.

The term salad, is used very loosely in the case of this dish.

Spring, is green; lettuce, cucumbers, avocado, spring beans, snow peas and zucchini dressed with freshly squeezed lime juice.

He watches with amusement as she picks out the cucumber and avocado pieces and slides them to his side of the plate.

She smiles at him as he finishes them off.

Summer, is full of colour. Grilled chicken breast with cherry tomatoes, red onions, arugula, mangoes and pomegranate seeds.

He's stopped eating and is just watching her, and she notices as she spears another piece of chicken, lifting it to her mouth, chewing and swallowing before speaking.

"Why aren't you eating?"

He shrugs, still watching her intently.

"I never really liked the summer salad. It's my daughter's favourite though."

She smiles and nudges him under the table with her foot.

"You're such a dad."

He huffs and pretends to be offended, but he can't keep it up, especially when she's looking at him with such admiration.

Autumn, is like the fall. Penne pasta in a garlic and basil pesto, with red and yellow bell peppers, sundried tomatoes, and chilli flakes.

It's a little spicy, and his entire glass of water is drained by the time they're finished, but she just gently wipes her mouth with a napkin and smirks at him.

Winter, is hearty. Grilled pumpkin, squash and potatoes with chopped up bits of bacon, chives and pickles, all drenched in a thick creamy sauce.

He pays the bill before she even has a chance to object, and she frowns at him and slaps softly on the arm as they rise.

She pretends to be mad but can't keep it up as he opens the door for her when they exit. She slips her hand into his as they head down the street and it may be a slight exaggeration, but he feels as though he is the luckiest man to walk the earth right about now.

He hails her a cab to take her home, and she leaves him standing on the curb with a goofy smile on his face and a bright red lipstick stain on his cheek.


	7. We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

**Day 44:**

 _So, there are those people in your life._  
 _The ones you love to hate and hate to love._  
 _Today you might say, I can't stand being away from_  
 _you for even just a minute, and then tomorrow,_  
 _it'll be like, we are never ever getting back together._  
 _Never. Ever._

"Steve!"

Melinda's standing directly behind him when she calls his name, a little louder than necessary, and he jumps nearly a foot into the air. Natasha's covering her surgeries and patients for the morning, and she's down in the ER, finally having time to properly familiarize herself with the layout of the place.

She's been working at Shield Memorial for just under a month and a half now, but Natasha and the other cardio attendings have been taking most of the calls from the ER giving her a chance to adjust to the rest of the hospital first.

Emergency rooms didn't differ too much between hospitals; the patients that were admitted there were pretty much standard across the world, but the procedures, chain of command, setting and finer details varied greatly.

"Melinda. Did you want to have to open me up and dig around in my chest?" Steve says, hand over his heart.

"Sorry-" she says laughing, -"That came out a little louder than I meant for it to."

Steve lets out a sigh and gestures for her to follow him as he begins his way around the room. The beds are all full, but none of the cases are very emergent, and it's actually quite calm in here compared to the last time.

"We tried upgrading to an electronic system to chart last year, but that didn't work out very well. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer everything on paper; that way we don't have computers making mistakes on top of all the human errors."

One of the four trauma rooms is in use; the lights are on inside but the blinds are closed; the other three empty.

"If possible, we try to move emergent patients into the OR to have surgery immediately, but in the case where the ORs are fully booked, or there isn't enough time, basic procedures can be performed in the trauma rooms. Peggy opened a guy up in there and packed his abdomen last year; saved his life."

Melinda can hear the admiration in Steve's voice as he speaks about Peggy, his eyes light up a little and goofy smile forms on his face, and if she were Natasha, she'd definitely tease him about it.

They're back at the ER nurses station, and Steve is explaining the admittance procedures, and how to proceed if steps need be skipped- should an emergency require it. Some of the information is not essential, but Melinda listens patiently as he gives her a run down.

He's extremely detailed, especially when going on and on about how the ER nurses know the place inside and out, from top to bottom, but Steve doesn't need to tell her twice to stay on their good side. He even takes the time to take her outside and show her the ambulance bay; it's raining and she has a feeling it may become crowded in the next couple hours.

* * *

"So, heard you were banging the new Cardio Chief."

Phil suppresses a groan as Stark attempts to engage him in a conversation as they operate on a young boy.

"Do you really think that's an appropriate topic for the OR?"

He can see the smirk that Stark is wearing, even beneath his surgical mask, and if the life of a child weren't in their hands, he's embarrassed to admit that he's seriously considering sticking a scalpel into his gloved hand.

"You can't blame me for being interested. We haven't seen you with anyone since your divorce from, wait what's her name again? The cellist? What like, during your fellowship?

Phil's dead set on ignoring him now; how one man could be so incredibly annoying, he does not know.

* * *

"So, what're we all talking about?"

Melinda beams at Phil as he pulls up a chair to their table, and Natasha immediately scoots over to give him space. They're a full house today, even half of the male barbies have joined them; and everyone missing is probably either doing their jobs or sleeping somewhere.

"We were just about to give Melinda a history lesson on Tony and Thor. You're not a part a proper employee of Shield Memorial until you've been inducted with the story" Maria says, taking a huge bite out of her steak sandwich.

Melinda rolls her eyes and sighs, giving the group all her attention, and they begin their lecture, which appears to be a perfectly well rehearsed speech crafted by Maria and Clint.

"Stark's inbred."

"Like, royally inbred."

"His dad, Howard Stark, made the greatest advancements in medicine back in his day."

"And he founded Shield Memorial-"

"-And the Stark Industries Foundation."

"Which Tony now heads. They fund a majority of the hospitals' research."

"So if you ever need a loan, Tony's the guy to ask."

Melinda just nods as they speak rapidly, and perfectly in sync with one another, and can only imagine how many times they've put people through this. They're still yammering on about Howard Stark's greatest achievements, but she begins to lose interest because Phil's hand is on her knee, and he's drumming out a repetitive pattern with his fingers.

"Earth to Melinda. Phil, stop distracting her, this is an initiation, it's tradition!"

Melinda smirks as Phil's hand stills, and looks up meet Maria's gaze.

"Alright then, finish up your story."

Maria appears extremely annoyed, and rolls her eyes to the ceiling before continuing as though Melinda is the one who is eager to listen and she's being forced to speak.

"You know Asgard, like, the most medically advanced hospital in all of Europe?"

"It's run by Thor's father, Odin. He's as much of a legacy as Howard Stark."

"He did his residency there, and we're lucky to have him."

"Because he is an ortho god."

"Breaks bones and fixes them like it's nothing."

Maria and Clint clearly have an immense admiration for Thor, as opposed to the slight disdain in their voices when speaking about Tony.

"Are we done here?"

As interesting as the extended history of her co-workers may be, Melinda would much rather spend her lunch break actually eating lunch. The other attendings are all on their phones as they eat, clearly having heard the tales of Tony and Thor a thousand times before today.

Satisfied that they've finished their neverending history lesson Maria and Clint finally find something else to entertain them, and Melinda's more relieved than ever. She casts her gaze back towards Phil, who is half-way through a bite of what appears to be a ham and cheese sandwich.

She smiles at him between forkfuls of her pasta, and shifts her leg over slightly so it presses against his. He nudges her foot with his, and she knocks hers right back against his.

"Are you two playing footsie under the table?!"

Melinda and Phil both freeze, and daren't look up, until they realise that Natasha is not speaking to them.

It sounds comical, but Natasha has just leapt out of her seat and has a hand over her mouth, which was seconds before, gaping open. She's waving her hand, finger pointed, between Bobbi, who is sitting beside her, and Lance, across the table, both of whom appear to be thoroughly embarrassed.

Natasha doesn't get the opportunity to publicly shame them to their faces for much longer, because in perfect harmony, they pick up their trays, rise from their seats, dispose of said trays, and make a hasty exit from the cafeteria.

"Alright. Who had the 29th of July as their pick?"

Clint whips out his tablet out of thin air, and taps his fingers at various spots around the screen, before furiously scrolling. His face lights up in an eerie grin as he finds the information that he's looking for, the screen brightness casting a white glow beneath his chin.

"May! You're the winner."

Melinda is honestly surprised; she hasn't won a single thing her entire life to date. She's not sure how much money Clint has managed to collect from various hospital staff, but judging from the amounts that the attendings alone put in, it's quite a hefty sum.

"Beginners luck?" she says, laughing.

She feels a little awkward as everyone congratulates her, but their attention spans are short, and before long, Clint's standing up on his seat and making an announcement to the entire room.

"Okay people. Morse and Hunter are back together. Spread the word. Bets for how long it'll take them to break up will be accepted from tomorrow morning. Either find Hill or me if you want in."

Whilst there's a small part of her that feels bad about the fact that the entire hospital is placing bets on the status of Bobbi and Lance's relationship, Melinda can only assume that it's another Shield Memorial tradition.

She doesn't have any longer to ponder the ethics or morality of winning money off the premise or demise of a coworker's relationship, because she was definitely right earlier about the weather bringing in an onslaught of cases.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It's as if half the pagers in the room are going off at one time, and their lunches and lunch time conversations are forgotten about as they hurry off to the ER.

Running down the halls with her fellow attendings by her side, Melinda realises that Shield Memorial has finally begun to feel like home.


	8. Enjoy the Ride

**Day 48:**

 _When you make a commitment to something,_  
 _someone, a job, a career, a family member,_  
 _a lover, you have to be ready. Ready for whatever_  
 _may come at you. Whether it's easy or hard,_  
 _how much you love it, or hate it, you made a promise._  
 _So just close your eyes, and enjoy the ride._

"You know, they're called lunch breaks for a reason."

Melinda's almost buried beneath a mountain of paperwork in her office; her wrists are beginning to ache from writing and her fingers are tiring from all the typing. When she'd imagined her life as the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, she did not envision the workload that came with the pay raise.

"Phil."

He's standing in her doorway with a bag full of take-away boxes in one hand and a cross between a pout and a frown on his face. She sighs and stands up behind her desk, feeling the muscles in her back tense slightly as she does. Sitting in one position for too long tends to do that to her.

His frown morphs into a smile as he steps into the room, shutting the door behind him and making his way over to her desk.

"Sorry, it's all bit cluttered in here," she says, looking down at the mess littering her desk, trying to figure out how on earth she could shuffle the files around to clear some space.

"Well, we'll just have to make do with the floor until you decide to get some more furniture," he says, laughing, and she's convinced that he's only joking, until he sets the food onto the ground and sits down right beside the bag.

Stepping around her desk, she finds that Phil's casually lounging, resting back on his arms with his legs straight in front of him, and sighing softly, she kicks off her shoes and joins him.

"I can't believe we're sitting on the floor of my office, eating lunch," she says, trying to remember the last time she'd done something like this.

He just shakes his head, reaching into the bag to pull out a couple of boxes, taking off the lids and setting them down between them. He can't take his eyes off her as she eats, but she hasn't seemed to notice his lingering gaze.

"Melinda," he admonishes as she reaches up and pulls a file off her desk. "Stop working and just take a break."

"I have a surgery with Stark this afternoon, and if I don't finish all my paperwork; it'll just keep building up," she sighs, opening up the folder and beginning to read through the documents inside.

She doesn't turn to him, concentrating on the pages and words in front of her, but she can feel him inching closer, and within moments he is directly by her side, his arm pressed up against hers.

He reaches for her abandoned spork and spoons up some cous-cous, carefully lifting it up towards her mouth. She rolls her eyes at his insistence, but opens up her mouth anyway and allows him feed her.

"You have to eat," he says quietly, feeding her another sporkful. "Or I'll worry."

She tenses up at his words, and takes a deep breath as she closes up the file and places it down onto the ground beside her. He stops in his movements too, letting the spork drop back into the box as she turns to face him.

The only thing she can see in his deep blue eyes is concern, concern for her, and it ignites feelings within her that she can't explain. She wraps her arms loosely around his neck as she buries her face against his shoulder, feeling the warmth radiate from his body.

He appears stunned for several seconds, unmoving, until she moves even closer beside him and closes her eyes against his skin, humming softly. He lets his arms wrap around her waist and he can feel her warm breath just beneath his ear.

"You're distracting me from my work," she mumbles, but the tone in her voice is not one of annoyance, but one of fondness.

"Good."

* * *

So, she hasn't managed to complete all of the paperwork that she hoped, but she can do it later on in the day, and through the evening if need be.

The surgery she has with Tony 'pain in the behind' Stark now takes precedence, and she can see him joking around with the nurses as she scrubs in.

"Melinda. I thought Natasha would be joining us, but it seems we've been given an upgrade."

Bruce is scrubbing in beside her, offering a friendly smile.

"Nat's doing a heart-lung transplant in OR 2. But I could say exactly the same for you Bruce. Stark told me Bobbi was out sick; I'd assumed Vic would be replacing her."

"She's clipping an aneurysm in OR 6."

"I was surprised that Stark needed someone from Neuro in here," Melinda says, nodding towards the operating room.

"Bobbi couldn't get the entire tumour out before his heart began to give out during the last surgery. Natasha pulled the plug and she had to close him up," Bruce relays, shaking the excess water from his hands and holding them up in front of him, letting the liquid run down his arms.

"We gave him two weeks to recuperate, and I'll try to get the rest of it out today so Tony can start the reconstruction. Judging by the state of his heart, it's likely he'll need at least another two surgeries after this one," Bruce says, gaze downcast as he heads into the OR, Melinda closely behind.

The nurses assist them into their gowns as they each pull on a pair of gloves.

"Bruce. Ready for the party?" Tony exclaims as they make their way over to the operating table.

Their patient is lying there, eyes wide open under the bright lights. He doesn't seem afraid, but children are generally the most resilient.

"Sure am. Ready to be tumor free, kid?"

The boy smiles and nods the best that he can in his position.

"When you wake up, you might even be as good looking as me,' Tony says as he stands over the kid, cracking his knuckles.

His statement is as egotistical as they come, but Melinda can see that it's not for his own benefit, but to help settle their patient's nerves, however little they may be, before they put him under.

Bruce waves the anaesthesiologist, Dr. Sitwell, over, and together they ease a small mask over the boy's face.

"Okay Ace. Can you count backwards from twenty for us?"

His breathing slows down and his eyes flutter shut when he gets to sixteen. Tony pulls at his gloves and lets them snap back against his skin, before looking around the operating room, up into the viewing area, and then back down.

"Alright people. It's a beautiful day to, well, make people beautiful."

* * *

The surgery is a success, and Tony manages to complete stage one of his reconstruction before they call it a day and stitch the kid back up. His heart rate had plummeted only once, towards the end of the surgery, but Melinda had just signalled one of the residents to administer a dosage of epinephrine and all was well.

They had finished earlier than scheduled, which she took as a fortunate turn of events, because she still has a weeks worth of paperwork to complete before more and more pile onto her desk.

She feels energized after the surgery; like she's taken a shot of caffeine, without all that coffee nonsense, and speeds through all the files and documents, surprising herself when she manages to finish before eight in the evening.

It's officially after work hours now, and with all her paperwork completed and nothing left to occupy her at the hospital, she could very well pack up, hail a cab and go home. But Phil had mentioned he had a three hour surgery that started at six in the afternoon, and something compels her to go watch.

The viewing area for OR 1 is empty, deserted, and the only source of light comes from the operating room below.

Phil's finishing up with a bowel resection on a three year old, and is speaking to the interns crowded behind him, likely explaining the procedure he is following. His hands are quick and steady, and he pauses after each step to give the interns an opportunity to have a closer look at his methods.

After completing his task, he places the medical instruments in the metal tray an OR nurse is holding out for him, stepping back to allow a fourth year resident to step in and close the patient up. Stripping off his gloves, he heads outside to scrub out, and Melinda rises from her seat and leaves the viewing area.

She's down outside OR 1 in less than two minutes, and she knows that Phil is still in there, so she leans against the wall and waits for him to exit. The door opens and he steps out, a deep frown in his face and exhaustion wearing down on him, but as soon as he turns and sees Melinda, his eyes light up and a smile breaks out.

"Hey."

"Hey. Finished your paperwork?" he asks, moving beside her.

Her hand slips into his, almost automatically, as if it were some sort of reflex, and she can definitely remember a time, less than two months ago where this amount of close contact with another person had made her uncomfortable.

She nods softly, leaning her head against his shoulder.

They've both been awake for at least twenty hours, and he looks as if he could fall asleep on his feet at any moment.

"Come on, I'll give you a ride home," he says, nudging her arm, and she's too tired to object, so she lets him pull her along with him down the hallway, hands clasped together between them.


	9. Bad Day

**Day 53:**

Bad days. They happen to everyone; all the time.  
They're named for a reason; they're terrible, and  
sometimes you just don't want them to continue,  
you want it to all end. Or you want to stop time,  
so it doesn't happen again. It gets better.  
It always gets better. And when you find someone,  
someone to be with you, to help you through it,  
well, then it's not so bad anymore is it?

In all her years working at hospitals, whether it be during her residency, fellowship, or time as an attending, Melinda has never scrubbed in beside a doctor with a vocabulary quite as colourful as Bobbi Morse's.

"Fucking asshole, stupid piece of shit."

"Hope the stupid son of a bitch gets run over."

"Should have castrated his sorry ass when I had the chance."

Melinda sneaks a glance over at Bobbi who is scrubbing her hands so hard that she's probably taken off most of her skin. She's muttering angrily under her breath, but Melinda has excellent hearing; she does however, have no intention of pointing out that castration is performed on the male organ that lay on the other side of the body.

"You alright?" Melinda asks, removing her hands from the sink, letting the tap stop running.

"Are you asking out of the concern of my well being, or are you just afraid that I'll go in and accidently perform a hemispherectomy on our guys brain?"

"A bit of both. But I'm sure if you take half his brain out, it won't be an accident." Melinda responds, and she smiles as her statement draws a grin from Bobbi, who had up to this point, looked like she was about to murder someone.

They enter the OR together; the patient having already been put under anaesthesia, and a pair of residents working on stemming the bleeding wound in the man's residents step aside and assist as Melinda and Bobbi head over and proceed to open him up.

"So, what's the deal with you and Hunter anyway?"

Melinda is aware this is probably the worst time possible to ask such a question; she has her hands around their guy's heart, trying to feel for a tear, and Bobbi's got his skull flap open and is probing around inside, but she won over three grand betting on their relationship, which she knows next to nothing about.

"He's my ex-husband."

Well that certainly explained a lot. Up until this point, Melinda had only assumed that they were just a couple with a volatile on again, off again relationship. Being married probably intensified things.

"What happened?"

"He picked plastics. Wanted to go the private route; make more money that way," Bobbi sighs, and she sounds more upset than angry now.

"But he works here, doesn't he?"

"He says he stayed for me; won't let me forget it."

"And your relationship now?" Melinda asks, mentally fist pumping as her fingers find the small rip on the right side of the heart.

"We have trouble spending extended periods of time together. He thinks that the longer he's with me, the more I manipulate him. One moment he'll be apologising, telling me that he wants to give us a shot, and then the next I'm the devil and he's making out with interns in supply closets."

Melinda nods sympathetically at Bobbi's recount of her complicated relationship with her ex as she sutures the tear and removes her hands from within his chest. She motions for one of the residents to step in and close up, and strips off her bloody gloves, disposing of them.

"Maybe you should hold off on the castration in case you guys get back together," she calls as she heads towards the exit to scrub out.

There's a fifty-fifty chance Bobbi will be offended, but as the neurosurgeon lets out a snort, Melinda grins.

* * *

"Does Stark try to get into everybody's pants around here?"

Melinda's sandwiched between Natasha and Maria at the attendings table, and watching as Tony Stark chats to a pair of residents, slinging his arm over the shoulder of one as he winks at the other.

For once, Natasha's preoccupied, engaged in a conversation made up entirely of hushed whispers and eyerolls with Clint, so the question falls only to Maria's ears.

"Nope."

Melinda raises a brow.

"Then what's with all the flirting?"

"He's an egotistical son of a bitch, that's why."

Melinda lets out a sound akin to snort and Maria gives her a look.

"Are you seriously telling me that none of the nurses, interns or residents I've seen him cosying up against have slept with him?"

"Well I bet they'd like to - he's rich, got an ugly mug, but rich," Maria says as she chews on her sub, crumbs flying everywhere.

"So you're trying to tell me that he doesn't sleep with any of them?"

"Yup."

Melinda's beyond confused.

"Is he gay?"

Maria almost chokes on her iced coffee, and Melinda cringes as some of it comes running out of her nose. Reaching over to the centre of the table, she grabs a napkin and tosses it at Maria, who proceeds to wipe away the mess.

"He's not gay, He's married."

Melinda is glad that she reached for her water bottle a second too slowly, or it'd be her turn to do a spit take.

"No way."

"Yes way," Maria's smirking, in a self-satisfied way and Melinda's pretty sure that the other woman is messing with her.

"No way."

"Twenty bucks says he is."

"Deal."

Melinda is about to press her for more information when Maria's pager goes off.

"Gotta go. Duty calls. I'll take that twenty bucks in cash, or alternatively you can wire it into my account."

And with that, Maria dashes off, leaving a half eaten Italian sub and an empty ice coffee container behind.

* * *

"Phil. I saw your name on the OR board. Don't you have a surgery in less than twenty minutes?"

It's a rhetorical question, but Melinda is confident that Phil knows what she's actually trying to ask him; why on earth had he waltzed into her office when he should have been preparing for a surgery?

She's cross-legged on her little couch; it's brand new - instead of waiting for the hospital to approve an application for furniture - she'd went out and bought it herself with a portion of her prize money from the bet. She's pretty sure that Vic won this time round, having predicted that Bobbi and Lance would break up yesterday.

"I still have time. And I missed you."

She smiles at how ridiculously adorable he is, and gestures for him to come over and sit beside her. He closes the door to her office and walks the two steps to the couch, sinking down into the cushions next to her. His footsteps are heavy, and he's tense and Melinda can immediately sense that something is wrong.

"Rough day?"

He nods and she reaches over, placing her hand onto his knee.

"We lost two full term newborns in the nursery today, and another preemie in the NICU. The kid I'm operating on today has already gone through nine surgeries, but he isn't getting better and…"

He stops talking and lets out a soft sigh. Melinda knows first hand that Phil is more optimistic than most surgeons, and to see him this defeated is hurting her too.

She reaches for him, and he slumps against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she rubs soothing circles onto his back. She's not a comforting person, it's not in her nature, but holding him, it's almost instinctual.

He's breathing deeply, and she pulls away, fearing that he might begin to hyperventilate. She places a hand on his cheek and looks into his eyes, smiling when he nuzzles her fingertips.

"You smell nice."

She blushes and gently flicks his cheek, shaking her head at him.

"It's been a terrible day, but seeing you, even for just-" he looks up at the digital clock hanging on her wall- "ten minutes makes it better."

There's a warm fuzzy feeling spreading from the pit of her stomach; he'd come to see her because he was having a bad day.

Because he was convinced that she could help him.

Melinda had given up hope of someone coming to her for help, emotionally, nearly ten years ago. But here Phil is, telling her that she makes his day better; not in those exact words, but she can read between the lines.

Having someone depend on her, it's an amazing feeling.

She could have had that before, but she was the one who had given it up, and for that, she could blame no one but herself.

* * *

Melinda's sitting in the Attendings' lounge with Natasha, discussing how to proceed with a difficult cardio case. It's not a particularly serious discussion, mainly because Clint is asleep on the couch opposite them, and Natasha keeps getting distracted watching him.

Steve digging around in the fridge isn't helping either.

The biggest distraction is Stark, who has his feet propped up on the coffee table while he munches on a bag of chips; loudly.

"Tony!"

Melinda and Natasha immediately look to the direction of the voice, which has startled all the occupants of the room, except Clint, who is still sound asleep. Steve's rubbing at his head, on the spot where he knocked it into the freezer door when standing up, and Stark is slowly slinking down, disappearing into his seat.

The ginger haired woman who yelled for him is marching into the room, and Melinda doesn't blame him for shirking away; she seems royally pissed.

He quickly stands and takes her by the elbow, pulling her out of the room. Melinda can catch snippets of their conversation. The woman, Pepper, is lecturing him on his eating habits, and he's annoying as usual.

"Tony, I'm just worried about your health. You know how scared I was when you collapsed the last time."

Melinda eyes Natasha as the woman's voice raises and Steve is just standing awkwardly with a carton of milk in one hand, the other scratching his head, evidently embarrassed to be listening in on their 'private' conversation.

"That's Pepper Potts from Administration. She's Tony's wife."

Okay, so maybe she had been wrong earlier.

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

Melinda lets out a huff, and Natasha gives her a look, obviously confused as to why she's disappointed that Stark is married.

"Great. Now I owe Maria twenty bucks."


	10. Say Something

**Day 60:**

Have you ever had that moment where you feel like you should  
speak, you should express your emotions and feelings through words.  
That you should say something?  
Only to realise that by keeping silent you've said more than you  
could possibly have through words. Because sometimes  
moments are so powerful alone, words need not  
be there to add to the effect.

"Okay, I'm running late, but Skye knows the rules. She hasn't had dinner yet; there's stuff in the fridge. Thank you so much for doing this."

Steve's standing awkwardly in the foyer of Phil's apartment, watching as his friend rushes around, and he scratches his head, trying to recall how he got roped into baby-sitting a nine-year old on his night off.

"Dad. Don't worry, I'll take care of Uncle Steve."

Steve wants to point out that he has plenty of experience taking care of children, well sick children. Well, he's operated on sick children before. Several times. That's pretty much the same thing isn't it?

"Behave." Phil says as he unlocks the front door, giving Skye a quick hug as she runs to his side, before waving to Steve and stepping out of the apartment.

As soon as the door closes, the lock clicking into place, Skye turns to him with a grin.

"Dad's going out. With a lady friend."

She's wiggling her eyebrows and Steve doesn't even want to know what's going on in her mind. Shuffling on his feet, he scratches his head again.

"Um, how about you go and watch some television or something, and I'll go make your dinner."

Within seconds she's running off into the living room area, and he heads towards the kitchen. He's been to Phil's apartment before; it's not their number one pick in spots to hang out, because of the whole Skye situation, but Steve's familiar enough with the place.

He is however, not familiar with whatever Phil has stocked his fridge up with.

There are packages of raw meat on the top shelf; the rest of the main storage area filled with bags full of various fruits and vegetables. Eggs, milk and bottles of sauces line the door, and with a sigh, Steve lets the fridge close and opens up the freezer.

It's almost completely bare, a tray of ice cubes in one corner and a tub of ice-cream sitting near the back.

No frozen pizzas, no ready-made meals. None of the things that he actually had the capability of making.

How was he supposed to feed her?

Steve's almost sure that throwing a combination of ingredients into a pot and letting them boil until they're probably way over-cooked is not something a child would enjoy eating.

Pulling out his phone from his back pocket, he almost calls the first number on his speed dial, out of habit. Moving his finger over to the number three, he presses call button and holds the device up to his ear, listening to the continuous ringing, until it stops and a female voice comes through.

"Hey Cap, what can I do for you?" Natasha asks, chipper as ever.

"I'm at Phil's with Skye, and I'm supposed to make her dinner.. but.." he trails off and she laughs.

Loudly.

It's a little offensive.

"I'll be there after I stitch this guys chest back up."

There are other people speaking in the background, and Steve can make out the faint beeping of the heart monitor. Figures that Natasha would find a way to answer her phone in the middle of operating on someone.

* * *

To her credit, Natasha shows up less than an hour later with Clint in tow.

Skye runs to them as they enter the apartment, excited shouts of "Natasha!" and "Clint!" echoing throughout the room as she hugs them.

Steve's a little miffed at that. Why were they just Natasha and Clint when he was "Uncle Steve"? He can only assume that it's a jibe at his age; but he's not even that much older than them.

"How'd you get stuck with the kid?" Clint asks as they enter the kitchen, Skye having quickly lost interest in them and gone back to her television programs.

"Bumped into Phil on my way out of the hospital. His normal sitter has the flu, and everyone else was occupied so I volunteered," Steve recounts, leaning against the counter as Clint begins to rummage through the cupboards.

"Like a good soldier."

Natasha's hopping up onto the bench beside him, her legs swinging as she finds a comfortable position.

He's only known her for just over a year; they'd started at SHIELD memorial around the same time, and from their first meeting she had attached to his side like a virus to a host cell, and had wheedled her way into his life. She'd even bought the apartment across the hall from him, which wasn't creepy at all.

He had just completed his second tour in Iraq, as an army trauma surgeon rather than a soldier, and she had just finished a two-year cardio fellowship in San Francisco.

He had almost mistaken her for an intern when they first met, because of her age. She's a prodigy of some sort; studying medicine back in Russia and advancing well ahead of everyone else.

Steve's not sure what skill she has that had her identified as a child genius, but if it's mastery is anything like her ability to annoy people, she must be brilliant.

It's entirely her fault that everyone at the hospital calls him Dr. Captain Rogers.

* * *

Melinda's slipping into her shoes when the sound of the doorbell ringing announces Phil's arrival. The heels are much too high and her feet will undoubtedly be in pain before the evening ends.

Taking one last glance in the mirror, she hurries out to the front door, grabbing her phone from the kitchen benchtop as she passes.

When she opens the door, Phil's standing there, all dressed up in a suit and a bouquet of pink roses in his arms. The gesture is cheesy, but she's never received flowers before, and takes them with a smile.

He stays by her open door as she walks off into the apartment to look for a vase to place them in. He's watching her with an expression that she can't quite figure out as she moves around the room.

She ends up leaving the roses in a jug that must belong to Peggy, before walking over to him and leading him back out into the hallway, pulling her front door shut behind them.

Phil's made reservations at a restaurant; somewhere fancy, and they're already running a little late, but she still finds herself stopping him before they head out to his car.

"Thank you for the flowers Phil, they're beautiful," she says as she kisses his cheek, not even having to lean up because that is how ridiculously high her shoes are.

He beams at her as he takes her hand, and together they head down the hall to the elevators.

* * *

This restaurant is much classier than the diner where they had their first date, and had Melinda felt overdressed earlier, she now feels the opposite. Some of the rocks that adorn the necks of the wealthy women that they pass probably cost more than her salary for an entire year. And as a surgeon she already earns more than most. The thin silver chain around hers pales in comparison.

They're sat at a table near the back corner and Phil pulls out her chair for her once again, like a perfect gentleman.

She watches him over their entrees; spinach and ricotta cannelloni with a tomato basil sauce, admiring the cut of his suit.

She had already found him good looking and adorable the day they met, when he was wearing a pink gown over his scrubs; but he's more than handsome with his red tie and suit jacket and cufflinks, which he had excitedly shown her in the car earlier.

He catches her watching him and his corners of his lips turn upwards, and his eyes don't leave hers as he takes another mouthful of food.

Her hair is curled and swept to one side, and it had been a bitch do to, but she's glad that she made the effort. Her dress is old; the same one she wore to the intern mixer the week before she started her residency. It's a deep red colour with half length sleeves, a square cut and almost nonexistent back; she had shivered earlier when Phil's hand had settled against her skin, his fingertips brushing along the base of her spine.

They each have a prime cut of steak for their main course; accompanied by an iced tea, because Phil has to drive and Melinda isn't big on drinking.

She continues sneaking glances up at him as she eats, almost unaware that his gaze has been lingering over her the entire evening.

Dessert is rich and heaven for chocolate lovers; sweet, but not as sweet as the smile that forms when she allows him to reach over and feed her a spoonful. His face flushes pink as she grabs a napkin and dabs a smudge of chocolate off his upper lip.

* * *

They're walking the down the hall, heading back to Melinda's apartment. She's barefoot now, carrying her heels in one hand, the other claimed by Phil. She unlocks the door and drops her shoes and purse inside, before turning back to him.

He smiles into her hair as she wraps her arms around his neck, going onto her tiptoes to rest her chin onto his shoulder.

"I had fun tonight," she whispers into his ear as his arms wind their way around her waist.

"I did too."

She presses herself closer against him and turns her head, kissing his cheek lightly, like she had done just hours ago in this very same spot. His arms loosen, and he's about to take a step back, but she holds him in place with her left arm as her right hand moves to brush the side of his face.

He takes a deep breath as she leans up, simultaneously pulling him down, and presses their lips together. Their eyes fall shut as she runs her fingers through his hair, and his hands move along her back, trying pull her as close to him as possible.

He is distracted when she nips at his bottom lip, and in a flash finds himself pinned against the wall outside her apartment as she continues to explore his mouth. Her hands are gripping the lapels of his jacket, and she doesn't let go, even when she slowly pulls away.

They're both out of breath, faces flushed and hair mussed. She giggles softly, and he can feel his heart beating wildly as he looks down at her. She leans up once more, and presses a chaste kiss against his lips before she slips out of his arms and heads back into her apartment, leaving him leaning against the wall.

He finds himself unable to move for at least another minute, and when he finally does, he raises a hand to his lips as he recalls how incredibly soft hers were.


	11. We Are Young

**Day 64:**

Surgeons. Your classic workaholics; rarely seen and  
almost unidentifiable outside the hospital in  
normal people wear. Even a coin has two sides,  
and they say those who work hard, play hard.  
So when they're not slaving away at their place of business,  
you can usually find them at a nearby bar.  
They're the loud ones, shouting things like:  
"We can drink as much as we fucking want to."  
"We are young."  
"This is fun."

Melinda is seriously considering revising her earlier pledge about not letting herself become intoxicated, because right now, that's exactly what she needs.

Drinking leads to bad decision making; and that is almost entirely the main reason she refrains from doing it. She can hold her drink well enough; but that had not always been the case, and she had probably made some of the worst decisions of her life under the influence of alcohol.

But it's all irrelevant now, because she's this close to breaking the hippocratic oath and accidentally giving her patient a lethal dosage by ordering the wrong drug be administered through his IV, and she's as far from drunk as humanly possible.

Instead, she just grits her teeth a forces a smile.

"Sir, I'm going to call neuro for a consult, just to make sure you didn't hit your head harder than we assumed."

She quickly pulls the curtains shut around the ER bed, but not before more of his inappropriate comments ring out for the entire room to hear. Tensing, she takes a moment to regroup her thoughts before turning and walking straight into Peggy.

"You alright?"

Melinda sighs and Peggy takes her by the arm, pulling her out of the ER and into a quiet corner.

"Your VIP in bed five tried to get to second base; I'm almost sure he doesn't have brain damage, yet."

"Quinn? He harassed two nurses and one of our fourth year residents the last time he came in. Thinks he can get away with anything because he has a fat wallet."

Melinda shakes her head, more annoyed than anything else, tucking her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat.

"I would have broken his nose had Steve not held me back. Consider yourself off the case; I'll page him and tell him to handle the problem - his self restraint far surpasses that of yours or mine," Peggy recalls, sighing. "Best we get back to work then."

It's barely ten in the morning and all Melinda wants to do now is go home and crawl into bed; that greasy slimebag Quinn had only made her bad day worse.

* * *

"I heard what happened in the ER today. Are you alright?"

Phil's waiting for her outside the hospital after evening rounds; his tie is loose, his sleeves rolled up and Melinda smiles, seeing him dressed so casually. She walks into his embrace, resting her hands and face against his chest as his arms wrap around her.

She doesn't respond verbally, just nodding as one of his hands moves up and begins stroking her hair.

"We better get going. Natasha doesn't like to wait," he says, dropping a kiss onto the crown of her head and drawing out another smile from her.

Against her better judgement, Melinda had agreed to tag along tonight; a group of the attendings and fellows were grabbing drinks over at their bar, and after today, she might just take whatever shots Natasha will undoubtedly offer.

She leans into Phil's side as he wraps an arm around her shoulders, and they make their way across the road to the bar. The summer night is warm; the air thick, and it's almost unbearable to be so close to another person, but Melinda feels only comfort as he holds her against him.

He opens the door for them as they arrive, and guides her inside with a gentle hand on her back. The patrons are made up mostly of businessmen from the nearby buildings and employees of Shield Memorial, and it's easy enough to tell the difference between the two.

Maria waves them over to a group of booths in the back; and despite the space, it is already quite crowded back there. Natasha and the woman who she now recognises as Tony Stark's wife Pepper, are conversing as they watch their respective significant others play darts. Stark is clearly outmatched because Clint is hitting the bullseye every time.

In the next booth over, Maria is sitting between the 'amicably divorced' couple, who are clearly still in the break-up stage of their relationship. Mack, Trip and Vic are opposite them, a half empty tray of rainbow shots between the five.

Peggy's sitting next to Steve, who is chatting to another man, in the corner booth. Her face stuffed with tortilla chips, and Melinda can't help but laugh as she slides in next to her. Phil's watching her from the bar as he orders drinks for the two of them and she smiles at him, letting him know that she's noticed him.

"Steve, introduce me to the lady," the man says, winking at her, and Melinda has to resist the urge to raise her eyebrow at him.

He's about Steve's age, with dark hair and eyes, and is currently smiling flirtatiously in her direction. Beside her, Melinda can feel Peggy rolling her eyes.

"Melinda, this is Bucky Barnes. He used to drive a tanker, but he's downgraded to an ambulance now," Steve says, slapping his friend on the back.

"Bucky, this is Dr. Melinda May; she's the one who replaced Pierce."

Melinda feels more than a little discomfort as "Bucky" grins at her and extends a hand. Gingerly, she reaches hers out, but instead of a handshake, he pulls her hand towards him and presses a sloppy kiss to her knuckles, and as she retracts her arm, Melinda wonders if it would be incredibly rude if she were to immediately reach for her hand sanitizer.

Fortunately, Phil's walking back towards them with a drink in each hand, carefully setting down a Malibu Sunrise in front of her and uncapping a light beer for himself as he sits down beside her.

His left arm settles around her waist, almost possessively, and Melinda can only imagine that he observed the exchange between her and Bucky only moments ago. Shifting a little closer, she leans up and presses a kiss to his jawline, rubbing her nose against his cheek.

"Is someone a little jealous?"

She can feel his smile, and the slight shake of his head as he takes a swig of beer and tightens his grip on her hip. Melinda really isn't one for public displays of affection, but she honestly can't bring herself to care as she kisses him again, this time lower, just beneath his ear.

When she pulls away and turns her attention to her cocktail, Peggy is watching her with a mixture of amusement and concern; Steve's friend Bucky has his mouth open in shock and Steve, well he just looks supremely uncomfortable.

* * *

Bruce and Thor come in an hour later, and by now, everybody is considerably more drunk. They immediately head over to the bar and grab a couple beers each, before joining Natasha's table.

Melinda's listening intently to a story that Bucky is telling about Steve, and their days in high school together; after turning off the flirt, he was actually quite friendly, and it appears he and Steve were and still are very close.

He's wrapping up a tale about Steve's athletic ability back in the day, and Peggy is rolling her eyes every now and then, because clearly, she has heard this story one too many times.

Melinda is glad that Bucky is done, not because the thought of Steve being a gangly pre-pubescent teenage boy isn't amusing, but because she is quickly growing distracted, thanks to Phil and the incessant tapping motion he's creating with his fingers against her side.

She elbows him in the ribs, and he freezes for a moment, before removing his arm from around her. She frowns, already missing the warmth and turns to him, slightly put out.

"I should get going," he says, checking his watch. "Don't want to leave poor Jemma alone with Skye for too long."

Phil's about to rise, but finds himself unable to, because Melinda's fist is curled around his tie, and she's looking at him with a smirk. Smiling, he gently brings a hand to her cheek and leans in, kissing her softly on the lips.

"Do you need a ride?" he whispers, and she shakes her head, loosening her grip on his tie and releasing him.

She watches fondly as he rises and proceeds to wish everyone a good evening, before making his way to the door and exiting the bar. When she turns back, Peggy again has that strange expression on her face, and she appears as though she wants to say something, but is reluctant to do so with company.

Fortunately for her, Steve and Bucky soon excuse themselves to join in on Clint's darts tournament, leaving the two of them alone. Melinda cranes her neck to see how they're doing - Natasha has joined in, teaming up with Clint and just from one glance, Melinda knows that Steve and Bucky don't have a chance.

Stark is so far past drunk, he's trying to climb into Bruce's lap, but Pepper doesn't appear to be fazed. Bobbi and Maria have collapsed against one another, Trip and Vic are still downing shots, one after another, and Lance appears to be having the life squeezed out of him by Mack. All in all, a successful night out.

When she turns back, Peggy shuffles closer, and rests her chin upon a propped up elbow, and Melinda twirls the straw resting in her empty glass.

"I've never seen you this happy," she says, a crease forming in her brow as she continues. "Don't get me wrong, after everything that's happened, you deserve to be happy. I just want to make sure that you're okay."

"Peggy, I-"

"I've known you for over ten years, and I've never seen you smile so much."

Melinda wants to point out that prior to moving to D.C., she and Peggy had only seen one another in two day intervals, once a year.

"Whatever it is you have with Phil, it's right."

And as Melinda stares down at her hands, she realises that her friend is not wrong.


	12. Human

**Day 71:**

Disasters. They strike when you least expect it.  
They can happen anytime, anywhere, and when they do,  
someone has to stand up, and take control of the situation.  
Fix the problem.  
People tend to forget that soldiers, policemen, firefighters,  
those who serve our community, are people too.  
Surgeons. Steely in the OR and fearless as they slice you  
open and help you heal. Unafraid. Unwavering. Undeterred.  
We're only human too.

The sound of a pager ringing through the almost empty on call room draws a series of loud groans from the only two occupants.

"Clint, answer your fucking pager."

"It's nearly six in the morning, why would anyone need a plastics consult?"

With a loud huff, Natasha slips out from beneath the sheets, and pads over to the chair where she had ditched her scrubs earlier. Digging around, she finally manages to find the darn thing, clipped to the waistband of her scrub pants.

"Shit."

Clint pushes himself into a sitting position on the bunk, craning his neck out to peer at her. The lights are off but the glow of the moon, well, street lights, coming in through the windows thanks to the undrawn curtains make it easy enough to see.

"What is it?"

He leans back against the bunk's metal frame as she begins to pull her clothes on.

"Code Orange, they'll need hands down in the ER, you might as well get up, they're going to page you eventually anyway," she says as she picks his scrubs up from off the floor and throws them at him. As if to prove her point, his pager starts going off just moments later.

She's lacing up her shoes and in seconds, he's by her side doing the same. They can hear footsteps echoing up and down the halls outside before they even exit the room, the distant echoes of sirens and Natasha has a feeling this is going to be disastrous.

* * *

It's close to six in the morning, and the ER has been surprisingly quiet. No major accidents, no influx of children with the flu, and several of the attendings on call are together in the lounge, engaged in a battle to the death.

Well, death of reputation any how.

"Hit me."

Bobbi smirks as she sends a card flying in Tony's direction, a jack of spades landing on top of his upturned queen of diamonds.

"Crap."

Grinning, Bobbi turns to Mack who holds his hands in the air and shakes his head.

"Bruce?"

"Nope."

"Thor?"

"Another!"

She's about to deal a card to him when several pagers start going off at once, all in different rhythms.

"Code Orange? That can't be good."

One by one, the attendings rise, leaving their cards untouched on the table, and pulling their discarded lab coats back on.

Rushing out the door, Bobbi nearly runs straight into Natasha and Clint, who are charging down the hallway.

"Hey, do you know what's happening?"

Natasha shakes her head as she fixes her hair, Clint handing her bobby pins as she pulls the strands into a bun.

A pair of residents dash past them, their interns trailing close behind; the sounds of sirens growing louder; closer.

And just when they thought that they'd have a shift with no major disasters.

* * *

"This is fun. Isn't this fun?"

Melinda is tempted to remind Phil that they're standing over a twelve year old patient, who happens to have a serious heart condition that she is trying to correct, and that it is not the time for games.

"Dr. Coulson. I'm sure the interns are enjoying describe the disease, but I would appreciate it if they were able to multi-task and hand me the correct surgical instrument when I request it."

That certainly seems to do the trick, because the interns immediately stand at attention, and Melinda hopes they can't see the smirk she's wearing beneath her mask.

"Dr. May. I'm just trying to create an interactive learning environment."

He sounds so put out, and Melinda looks up from the patient's beating heart, making eye contact with him. She can almost see the pout that's undoubtedly formed, but she can make him feel better later, when they're not operating on a kid.

She's lifting her hands from the body, preparing to stitch the incision back up, when the pagers of every doctor in the OR start to let out incessant beeps. She points at an intern on the other side of a table, Fitz, the poor kid Maria had chosen to embarrass on his first day, and tilts her head in the direction of the tray where the pagers all lay.

He immediately rushes to them, almost tripping over his own feet, and the other interns snort, but Melinda can only shake her head. Poor thing.

"Err, Dr. May, it's a code orange. What's a code orange?"

Melinda looks at Phil; he's watching her with widened eyes and she knows it's bad. Hospitals all use the code system; some are universal, and others are unique to each individual institution. Back in L.A, orange had stood for hazardous material spillage, but from Phil's reaction, it appears that whatever it stands for here is much, much worse.

"Dr. Triplett if you would close up here. Everyone else, with me."

Melinda and Phil immediately make a beeline for the door, stripping off their bloodied gloves and gowns and heading to scrub out. They're done in record time, and Phil instructs the interns and residents to assemble in the ER when they're finished.

Even in times like these, he holds the door open for her and she can't help but roll her eyes at him. They make their way through the halls to the elevators, and she presses the down arrow repeatedly with her thumb.

When the doors open, she's face to face with Maria, who appears quite frantic. A broader look shows that nearly all the attendings on call are crammed inside, and Melinda and Phil squeeze in between Thor and Bruce.

As the doors slide back closed, Tony, who is crammed into the back corner shouts - "Does anyone know what the hell is going on?"

* * *

"Did I do something to upset you?"

Peggy looks up from where she's signing discharge papers, leaning against the counter at the nurses station, seeing nothing. It takes her another moment to realise that Steve is seated in one of the nurses chairs, looking up at her, and she regards him with a neutral expression.

"What in the world gave you that idea?"

He looks relieved. Peggy bites back a sigh; Steve had never been one to pick up on sarcasm, even with a guy like Bucky as his best friend.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but she silences him as she catches sight of the small television in the corner of her eye, shifting until it is fully in her vision.

"Could you turn that up please?"

He digs around in the shelves for the remote, pulling it out and pointing up towards the screen, and the volume quickly increases.

"-airport. A commercial plane carrying over two hundred passenger has crashed, minutes after take-off. The wreckage is still ablaze, firefighters have just arrived on scene. We'll bring you the latest upda-"

The sound of the television is drowned out as the phones begin to ring, and the sirens of the ambulances pulling away from the bay filling the room.

"Oh crap."

Peggy turns back to Steve, who is now in a standing position, peering over the shoulder of a nurse who has answered the call.

"Doctors, they've contained the fire and have begun extracting passengers from the wreckage. Our ambulances have yet to arrive on site, the first one is just minutes away. There are many injured.."

Steve's gaze flickers to hers for a brief moment, and all Peggy can manage in this moment is a curt nod; but he understands the meaning behind and takes control of the situation.

"Page all attendings, residents, interns and nurses on call, page all attendings that are off; code orange."

Code orange.

Their code for an external disaster.

* * *

"- and cancel all non-emergent procedures. Stark, you'll be in charge of the burn unit - the wreckage caught fire so there'll be a lot of patients sent your way. We'll need an ENT up in the ER, but the rest of the plastics department are assigned to the burn unit also."

Clint stays put as Tony leaves with Lance and Grant, joined by a group of residents and interns.

The ER is a flurry of movement, chaos. as ambulances begin pulling in, the injured passengers from the flight being rolled in on gurneys by the medics. Doctors flock to each patient, either wheeling them up to the OR or down to the burn unit.

There's blood, everywhere. Terrified screams from those that are aware of what has happened to them. Parents yelling for their children, others calling for their friends.

It's a neverending nightmare.

* * *

The plane had taken a nose dive right after take-off, the pilots and all passengers in the front of the aircraft killed on impact. Those in the middle and rear that had survived were engulfed in flames, burned alive, and those that lived through the fire were seriously injured, in a critical condition.

That's the truth.

It had been a freak accident. Those that died didn't suffer; death was quick, painless.

This is the story they tell to the family members of the deceased, doing little to soothe their heartache, but it's better than revealing the true horrors their loved ones had gone through before passing.

Nick Fury is grim as another team of surgeons exit the OR, shaking their heads.

That's it. They're done.

Their ICU is filled with survivors, those that will live another day. The morgue is filled with the bodies of those that will never take another breath.

The mood is sullen, the surgeons seeking solace in one another. Even Bobbi and Lance aren't arguing, and that is almost terrifying to see.

* * *

Melinda lets Phil lead her out to his car, she doesn't have much left in her. It's almost midnight; the dawn of a new day.

Phil keeps one hand over her's as he drives, glancing to check on her every time it's safe to do so. Her eyes fall shut and her breathing evens out, and he smiles for the first time since the crash and it's aftermath because she looks so peaceful in her sleeping state.

He eases into an empty spot by her apartment building, careful not pull in too quickly and jolt her back to consciousness.

They've been sitting there for several minutes, and he should really wake her, let her get inside, get some sleep, but he's mesmerised.

Drawn in by her every breath.

He briefly ponders how awkward it would be if she were to catch him watching, watching her in one's most vulnerable state and he's tempted to gently squeeze her hand, to wake her. But she appears so relaxed and he can't bring himself to.

"Are you watching me sleep?"

Busted.

Her eyelids flutter open, and she regards him with a tired smile. He shrugs and she really wants to laugh, but she's exhausted. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she leans across and presses her forehead against his, kissing him softly, once, twice, three times.

With that, she opens the door and steps out onto the curb, closing it behind her. He's about to protest, about to insist that he should walk her up to her apartment, but she gives him a warning glance, and he just waves as she enters the building.

He sits there, with the keys in the ignition, until he sees the light in her bedroom switch on through the windows.


	13. Just the Way You Are

**Day 77:**

For some strange reason, we as people, often seek approval  
from others to prove our own self worth. I was taught from  
a young age to just be me, but there was always a part of me,  
albeit a small part, that wondered, would my mother love me  
more, if I changed a certain aspect about myself. My father told  
me I was being stupid. He said,  
"you're not perfect, no one is. But I love you, just the way you are."  
I later learned that my mother felt no different.

Melinda had been an overachiever her entire life.

She was born a month early and feet first, not even bothering to turn before coming out into the world.

By four months she had begun crawling around, and four months after that, started walking around, hiding from her nanny around the house.

Her first word, at nine months old, was poop, and by the time she was just under two years old, it wasn't an issue anymore because she learned how to use the potty.

Around the same time, she had her first kiss, a little boy in the neighbourhood who she had grabbed and planted her lips on, before wiping the slobber off on the back of her hand and pushing him down on the street.

Her nanny had home schooled her until she was old enough to enrol at the local elementary school, and by then, she was already reading at a third grade level. Her parents made the decision to put her in a school for gifted and talented students, where she spent time with other overachieving students.

By the age of seventeen, she had her first degree, a bachelors in biological sciences, and was enrolling in medical school at Thomas Jefferson University. The day she had received the offer through the mail, her mother hadn't even batted an eyelash, simply saying "That will do."

Even now, as the youngest head of cardio in the history of Shield Memorial, her mother still made a point of calling up and reminding her that her current success did not make up for any of the failures in her past.

Such was the exact reason why Melinda had a total of thirty nine missed calls from a number with a Pennsylvania area code.

She expected repercussions for her actions, possibly a lecture the next time she visited, it wouldn't be the first time that her mother threatened to disown her.

She didn't anticipate however, that the woman would find a means of utilising a third party to get through to her. So when she received a page from Peggy to see her in her office, she had a feeling that the meeting would not be one of business or leisure.

"Hey, you wanted to talk?"

Before Peggy even has a chance to respond, Melinda's stepping into her office and shutting the door behind her, sliding the lock into place with a single finger.

"Oh yes, why don't you just invite yourself in. Goodness knows I haven't been trying to teach you manners since the day we met."

Melinda's expression is one of evident annoyance as she pulls out the chair opposite Peggy's desk and sinks down into it.

"I'm not a med school student anymore, and you are certainly not my lab demonstrator."

"And yet I find myself in a situation that gives me quite a sense a deja vu. Your mother calling me because she can't reach you, and me having to deal with her."

Melinda narrows her brows at Peggy and grips the edge of her seat with both hands.

"This is hardly the same situation."

Peggy folds her arms in front of her, leaning forward and meeting Melinda's gaze.

"You were young and you were scared. You made a mistake and she kicked you out. Or you ran away; my mind is still fuzzy about the details. But look at where you are now. Why are you still afraid to speak with her? If she didn't care, she wouldn't call."

"My mother hates me."

"No she doesn't."

"Fine, I hate my mother."

"No, you don't."

Why did Peggy always have to be right about everything in life?

Melinda, that gentleman is a bad influence

Melinda, you have to tell her, it's for the best

Melinda, I can't make the decision for you, but I urge you to do it quickly

Melinda, you have to do what you think is best, but whatever your choice is, you'll carry regret with you your entire life

Melinda, that dress and those shoes? No.

Melinda.

Melinda.

"Melinda!"

Peggy's snapping her fingers together, directly in front of Melinda's face, and she pulls away slightly, the sound drawing her back into reality.

"It is a common courtesy to pay attention to one when one is speaking. Especially when that person spent half an hour on the phone with an angry woman because somebody has been avoiding their mother."

"I haven't been avoiding her. I've been strategically making it impossible for myself to be present in the room when she calls."

This time Peggy's the one who is rolling her eyes as she begins fiddling around with her wireless mouse.

"What I meant to say was, thank you for dealing with her for me. It means a lot."

"You're welcome."

* * *

When Melinda drops around at Phil's office between surgeries later in the afternoon, she is surprised to find the room occupied, and not by the man himself.

There's a young girl, likely under the age of ten, sitting cross-legged in Phil's office chair, scribbling away furiously into a ruled book. There's a mathematics textbook open on top of Phil's patient files, and his keyboard, mouse and laptop have been moved to one side, creating a makeshift workspace for her.

"If you're looking for him, dad's doing a splenectomy in OR4."

The girl, Phil's daughter, Skye, obviously, addresses Melinda without looking up, and she honestly isn't too shocked. It is definitely not surprising that Phil would have a daughter so bright.

She's about to respond when Skye looks up at her, blinking a pair of dark brown eyes before her eyebrows raise towards the roof.

"You're Melinda. Dad's new lady friend."

Melinda barely manages to contain a laugh at how brash and straightforward the girl is.

"Yes. I don't know the bit about being your father's lady friend though."

Skye smiles at her, slowly placing her pencil down onto the desk and gesturing for Melinda to sit down opposite her. As she moves to take a seat, Melinda genuinely wonders if this is what an interrogation feels like.

"How old are you?"

Well, alright then.

"Thirty."

"Aren't you a little young? Dad's not too far from forty; are you sure you want to end up with an old man?"

Melinda has no idea how to respond to that question in a way that won't get her in trouble with the girl, so she chooses an answer that applies but isn't one that she necessarily believe is true.

"Age is but a number."

Skye nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer.

"Criminal Record?"

"Parking ticket, back in LA. Once."

"Have you ever been married?"

"No."

"Does it bother you that dad's been divorced?"

"No."

"You know, he's been alone since Audrey left him for the other Phil in her life."

Before Melinda has a chance to ask who this 'Audrey' is, there's a loud cough from the doorway, and she turns to find that Phil is standing there, arms across his chest, eyeing Skye with a disapproving glare.

"Skye."

"Dad."

"Is there any reason why you're questioning Melinda like she's a murder suspect?"

Phil's tone is stern as he walks towards them, stopping behind Melinda and giving her shoulder a soft squeeze.

"I just didn't want your girlfriend to turn out to be a prostitute like last time."

"She was not a prostitute, she was an entertainer."

"Not according to Jemma."

"Well Jemma, isn't always right."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Melinda sits stiffly, unsure of how she should be reacting. This is clearly an ongoing banter between father and daughter, and one she would much rather stay out of.

Groaning, Phil gives Skye a look that says 'this conversation is over', and he offers a hand to help Melinda up, putting his arm around her as he ushers her out of his office, shutting the door loudly enough to make a point.

"I'm sorry about Skye. She's a little… overprotective, and meddlesome."

The hallways up on the office floors are quieter than the rest of the hospital, and this particular one is completely deserted, so she doesn't object when he leans his back against a wall and pulls her towards him, enveloping her in his arms.

All of her protests surrounding public displays of affection seem to vanish when it comes to Phil, and though there's a part of her mind that keeps reminding her that she's known him for less than three months, and that they've never even defined whatever it is that they're doing together, she can't bring herself to care.

"She's sweet, and loves her dad. But tell her to stop worrying, I'm most definitely not a prostitute."

She laughs softly as her fingers toy with them hem of his scrubs, and he joins in, tightening his arms around her.

"You're amazing."

She presses her hands against his chest, her fingers curling around the dark blue fabric of his scrub shirt as he leans down to kiss her, and he reaches a hand up to cup her face as the other stays around her waist and pulls her even closer.

Younger Melinda, heck, any version of her before meeting Phil, would not be standing in a public place and making out with anybody. She could only imagine how disapproving her mother would be.

Both his hands are tangled in her hair now, and she's curled one arm around his neck, anchoring herself against him, and they're about to pull apart for air when a series of loud knocks causes them to almost jump apart.

Skye's forehead is pressed against the glass as she pulls a face at them, her hand holding back the blinds that should have obscured the view, and Melinda turns to hide her face in the crook of Phil's neck as he shakes his head warily.

"Okay, I approve of her. But I might have to go and throw up my lunch now."


	14. Story of My Life

**Day 81:**

 _That man you just passed in the street; his wife_  
 _has cancer, and he has two young children at home._  
 _The old woman crossing the road, her grandson is_  
 _serving our country, and she just wants him to come home,_  
 _because she already lost his father and grandfather to_  
 _the cause. You know absolutely nothing about the strangers,_  
 _that you pass by in life, and that's a little scary. What's really_  
 _scary is when you know someone, and don't, at the same time._  
 _When they sit down, and say, "you wanna hear the story of my life?"_  
 _It's all new and unfamiliar, but you hope that one day,_  
 _you'll be able to recite that tale, word for word._

"Skye, please change out of your pajamas, we have to leave."

Phil sighs as his nine year old rolls her eyes at him, shovelling one last spoonful of cereal into her mouth and making a point of chewing slowly, before taking her time sliding off her chair, and shuffling an inch per minute towards her bedroom.

He grabs her empty bowl and walks it over to the sink, quickly rinsing it out before shoving it into the dishwasher. Wiping down the counter with an old dish rag, he checks his watch again.

9:04.

Of all days he had to sleep through his alarm, it had to be today. He'd intended on waking at seven, and getting some housework done before dropping Skye off at Jemma's, but had not actually woken until half past eight, when Skye clambered into his bed and shouted that she was going to starve to death if he didn't feed her.

She had quite the dramatic streak.

"Skye, are you done yet?"

His question is soon answered as the door to her bedroom swings open and she runs out in a blue floral dress that he doesn't recognise; Jemma, and occasionally Peggy or Natasha, are in charge of taking her clothes shopping these days; when Phil did, she always complained that he had no sense of style.

"Jeez dad, don't get your knickers in a twist."

Okay, maybe letting Skye hang around Natasha all the time is a mistake on his part.

"Why are you in such a rush away?" she tugs on his sleeve as h e quickly ushers her out of their apartment. "Are you going out with your girlfriend?"

He shakes his head and places his hand onto her shoulder as they walk.

"I'm late for breakfast with Melinda, and she's not my girlfriend."

"Yet."

"Skye."

"She's nice. And she's young. And she's a doctor. If you don't snap her up, she's going run off with a better guy and you're going to end up alone."

"Skye."

Skye opens her mouth and appears as though she is about to badger him some more, and he really isn't the mood to explain adult relationships to a child, so he slips a hand into the side of his laptop bag and dangles his iPad in her face.

It does the trick.

* * *

"Hey, sorry I'm late. You look lovely by the way."

Melinda looks up from the patient files she is reading to see Phil sliding into the booth opposite her. Seeing as he compliments her appearance almost every time they're together, his comment shouldn't elicit too much of a reaction from her. She bites back a smile, but her body betrays her, a pink tinge spreading across her cheeks.

"It's alright, I had plenty of things to entertain myself with," she says as she places the folder on the top of a pile beside her.

She chooses not to respond to his second statement however, not really knowing what to say, but Phil doesn't seem to mind.

They don't have a chance to begin a conversation, as a perky blonde waitress stops by and asks for their orders. Just minutes later, she returns, placing a stack of pancakes in front of each of them, along with a mug of black tea for Melinda and coffee for Phil.

"So, the other day Skye mentioned that a woman named Audrey had left you? Was she…" Melinda lets the question trail off, not even sure why she had brought it up in the first place.

The easiest explanation was that she was simply curious, but she has no intention of lying to herself. She wants to get to know him more; learn about his past, which she is well aware is a mistake on her part, because she has nothing to offer him back, nothing she is comfortable with sharing, if he were to ask about her own past.

"Audrey was my wife."

Melinda nods, because Phil seems to have tensed up, and she regrets more than ever bringing it. She picks up her mug of tea and takes a sip, letting the hot liquid scorch her tongue and throat on the way down.

"We married young; it was impulsive."

Melinda flickers her gaze up at him; his brow is pinched and his hands are clenched around the knife and fork that he's using to cut into his pancakes.

"I had finished my residency, and wanted to settle down and start a family. She was a musician and wanted to travel."

Phil's expression is almost pained now; these memories were evidently not pleasant, and Melinda knew first hand how it felt to carry that around with you.

"We split up before Skye's second birthday, and she moved to Portland to play in their philharmonic."

Melinda now understands the joke Skye had made earlier, about Audrey leaving her father for the 'other phil' and in any other circumstance it would have been funny, but Phil seems so upset, and it hurts her too.

"Phil."

She's ignoring her food which is quickly going cold, in favor or reaching a hand out towards him, hovering it gently over his clenched fist.

"I'm sorry I brought it up."

He drops his eating utensils, letting the metal clang loudly against the porcelain plate, before taking her hand in both of his.

"It helps. Talking about it. I mean, it's silly, but it feels like a weight is lifted off my chest every time I do. And it's stupid, because it's been so long, and I'm not even upset anymore about the fact that our marriage failed, but sometimes it still kind of hurts. And talking about it. It helps."

He's rambling and she reaches her free hand over and squeezes his, which are still clasped tightly around her other one. He looks up at her, blue eyes meet brown, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"And now I've ruined our breakfast."

She smiles, shaking her head, and with no more hands left to spare, nudges his leg with her foot.

"Come on, let's eat. We have rounds in twenty."

* * *

"-and I had to spend an extra thirty minutes in there, fixing their mistakes."

Maria's complaining about interns again, and Bobbi and Lance are shooting death glares at one another from across the cafeteria, so everything is pretty much back to normal. The only real difference today is that Peggy is free and has joined them at lunch, and Melinda is sitting between her and Clint today, because Natasha is nowhere to be seen.

"Interns are supposed to make mistakes Maria, it's how they learn," Mack says calmly before pointing a finger across the table at her. "Plus, I seem to recall you botching plenty of surgeries during our residency."

"I did not 'botch' surgeries, and there were definitely not 'plenty'," Maria huffs indignantly, glaring at him, before proceeding to pick up a grape from her fruit salad and turn it into pulp between two fingers.

Melinda has a funny feeling that the poor piece of fruit was just a substitute for Mack's head.

She looks around the table again, and does a quick roll call in her head. Phil has a surgery at the moment, as do Stark and Ward, but Steve and Natasha were definitely free. Their names had been absent from the OR boards when she passed them earlier, and Melinda can't imagine why they would miss lunch, especially since she's sitting next to Clint, who Natasha is rarely, if ever, far from.

And to be completely honest, Steve doesn't appear to have many friends outside of the hospital.

"Where's Natasha?" Melinda asks as she nudges Clint with one elbow, making him look up from his minestrone soup.

He shrugs and looks up around the table before turning his attention back to his food.

"No idea, last I saw she was off trying to ruin Steve's life."

He sounds almost annoyed as he speaks, and Melinda can only assume that Natasha's need for meddling in other's relationships doesn't leave much time for her own. But then again, Natasha is never particularly specific when describing her relationship with Clint - there is clearly a physical side, and they are together more often than apart, but Natasha has also clearly attached herself to Steve's side, even going so far as to live across the hall from him.

Melinda's queries are sated when Natasha bursts into the cafeteria with Steve in tow. He's wearing a button down shirt and fancy dress pants, and Melinda could swear that she saw him earlier in a t-shirt and jeans. He also looks extremely uncomfortable as Natasha pulls him over to one corner and Melinda is well aware she is staring but she can't help it.

She's speaking rapidly to Steve, and not so subtly gesturing to a table by the window on their far left, where a young blonde nurse is sitting alone. She looks familiar, but Melinda can't quite place her face.

Natasha makes her way over to sit beside Clint, but doesn't appear to notice his solemn mood because her gaze is locked on Steve who is shuffling towards the nurse. Whatever they're saying to one another stays between them, because there are people everywhere, talking and eating, and their voices are are lost amongst the chatter.

"Don't Steve and Sharon make a good looking couple?"

Sharon.

Sharon.

Sharon Carter.

The smiling blonde nurse is Peggy's niece via her elder sister.

Melinda's realisation doesn't come a second too late, because moments later, Peggy is standing, half a chicken salad sandwich left abandoned on the table as she flees from the room.

Interesting.

* * *

"So. How did your ambush set up lunch date go?"

Steve's expression screams exasperation as he turns from the x-rays hung up against the lit up screens, to Melinda who is studying a pair of unrelated scans beside him.

"Did Natasha put you up to this?"

"Just making sure you're alright. She can be quite the handful."

"No kidding."

That effectively ends their conversation, so Melinda plucks the scans from where she had pinned them up earlier and proceeds to leave.

She might be hearing things, but as she exits the room, swears that Steve is muttering something akin to "She picked the wrong Carter".

Very Interesting.


	15. Rumor Has It

**Day 92:**

Gossip spreads like wildfire, but that's just an expression  
I'm stealing, because I have no idea how wildfire spreads.  
You'd be surprised by things you learn about people,  
just by listening to others. Whilst not necessarily true,  
information is power; that one isn't stolen, I truly believe that.  
And as terrible as gossip is, the next time you hear someone  
start a sentence with, "Rumour has it-" you might convince  
yourself to stick by a little longer.

It's mid-September now, and Melinda can scarcely believe that she has been at Shield Memorial for three months already.

Whilst she had mostly kept to herself back in LA, spending most of her time either at work or alone at home, she now finds herself surrounded by a group of people that consider her a friend.

Her routines here are a drastic improvement, and even though she's always lived life by a schedule, she doesn't feel pressure doing so anymore.

For morning shifts, she attempts to get into bed as early as possible the evening before, so she can get things done in the morning before work begins. Sometimes it's cleaning up, or extra paperwork that needs doing, but in the past couple weeks, she's been frequenting a nearby gym with Natasha, Maria and Bobbi, who all believe that one should eat whatever they want, whenever they want, but pay the price for that by exercising.

She has lunch with the other attendings, sometimes in the cafeteria, and less often in the Attending's lounge. They eat, they joke around, talk about cases or bizarre patients, Maria mostly vents her frustrations, and Natasha is just as annoying as she was back in the day, but it's nice to have other people to be around and converse with, no matter the topic.

It's nice to have people to talk to about one's day, whether it be happy and exciting with three successful surgeries and major medical breakthroughs, or incredibly stressful and frustrating because no one can quite figure out how to operate without killing the patient and time is quickly running out.

It's really just, nice.

For evening shifts, she tries her hardest to sleep during the day, and at times it's almost impossible, because her body clock is screaming at her to be awake; but at other times, she's so exhausted from the day that's passed she'll collapse onto her couch the minute she walks into her apartment, only to wake up hours later to a sore neck and back from a terrible sleeping position.

If she has time, she usually grabs a quick dinner with whoever is working the same shift, most of the time it happens to be Natasha, which quite frankly Melinda doesn't understand, because they were both in the same speciality, but she supposes that Shield Memorial had enough cardio surgeons to go around.

She suspects that either Natasha has pestered Peggy into putting them together on the roster, or Peggy has done so herself so that Natasha can keep an eye on her, which is ridiculous, because Natasha is the one that needs to be constantly monitored, in order to keep her out of trouble.

The former is much more probable.

Night shifts and longer shifts equate to an amount of caffeine that can almost be considered an overdose - usually obtained from tea or coke, whichever she happens to feel like, as unhealthy it may be. The sugar rush lasts until the minute after she finishes up, and then she hitches a ride with home with whoever else is coming off a shift.

She really needed her own car.

And time off, much less days off become more and more of a rarity as they draw closer to the last quarter of the year. There are more cases at the hospital, more emergencies, more accidents because people are growing tired and restless and just can't wait for the year to be over.

Families returning from summer vacations to exotic and far off lands will likely bring about a whole new slew of infectious diseases, and the workload can only grow from there.

* * *

It's within human nature to gossip apparently, or so Fitz, as he was called by everyone around here, discovered when he started as an intern at Shield Memorial. He was at least several years younger than the others, and his baby face only made the women pinch his cheeks and call him a cutie while the guys just laughed at him for it. In all fairness, he shouldn't have fit in, but they let him have lunch with them, and looked out for him around the hospital, and it was nice.

Hanging around with them however, brought him much non-medically related information about certain higher ups at the hospital that he would really rather not know. But as he quietly sits at the end of the table, pulling out pretzel after pretzel from the little plastic container sitting in front of him, he can't help but tune in to the conversations of his fellow interns.

"I heard Dr. Romanoff and Dr. Barton going at it again in an on call room this morning."

"Seriously?"

"The attendings are a bunch of sex addicts."

"They have bets on each other's relationships. How weird is that?"

"Dr. Hill is such a bitch. She's the meanest of all the attendings."

"No way. Have any of you scrubbed in with Dr. Carter? She's insane."

"Anyone have any idea what's going on between her and Dr. Captain Rogers?"

"Nothing, I hope. He's a fine piece of ass that I'd like to get my hands onto."

"Dude gross, he's like at least a decade older than you."

Fitz has heard all of these topics in their exchanges before - they really didn't have many things to talk about other than the relationships between their superiors; when they weren't doing so, they were bragging about whichever surgeries they had managed to scrub in on.

Sure, Dr. Hill had embarrassed him more than any of the other interns; predominantly after he had failed on the appendectomy on his first shift, but as mean as she was, she wasn't a bad teacher.

"How old do you think Dr. Carter is?"

"I heard she was a TA for Dr. May when she was in med school, and apparently Dr. May is thirty, so what she must be like, almost forty?"

"Yeah, but women lie about their ages. How can Dr. May be head of cardio at thirty?"

"Dr. Romanoff told us that Dr. May was her resident during her intern year, and she's an attending now, so she must be at least what, thirty one, thirty two."

Crunch.

These pretzels sure were salty.

And quite honestly, he can't figure out why it matters how old the female attendings are. He's nearly five years younger than most of the other interns, and if doesn't fail out, he'll only be twenty seven when he finishes his residency. Plus, the attendings were a scary bunch, and he had no intention of getting on their bad side by joining in on all the gossip.

The others, the girls especially, are all so engrossed in their chatter that they don't even see a figure approach the other end of the table. In fact, they keep on chattering away as the rest of the cafeteria grows silent, and are completely unaware until the moment he stops snacking on his pretzels.

They look up, one by one, at each other, and then at him, before all turning their heads to see what or who it was that is causing the silence.

Fitz wonders whether the situation would be more awkward, had it been one of the attendings they were gossiping about, catching them in the act.

"Why don't one of you fools try and guess how old I am?"

Chief Fury is standing in what he probably assumes is a commanding position, stance rigid and hands on his hips, but honestly he just looks a little odd.

Not that how he presents himself in any way affects the fear the interns are feeling.

He's a very domineering person to begin with.

And the eyepatch only adds to the effect.

* * *

"-and you make sure he doesn't eat anything unhealthy. Promise?"

Steve nods solemnly as Pepper finishes her lecture. She's flying across the country for a week, doing administrational things that he'd rather not know, and Steve and Bruce have been assigned by her to keep watch over Tony, and stop him from resuming his horribly unhealthy eating habits.

Melinda had been initially curious why Pepper was so controlling over what the man put in his mouth; and had just assumed she was one of those 'health nuts'. A conversation not too long after with Bruce, cleared things up.

Apparently Tony had collapsed during a routine liposuction on a rich client, due to a blockage in one of arteries in his heart, a year or two. It wasn't hereditary, instead creditable to his lifestyle choices, and he'd had to have major surgery to correct it.

Unfortunately, he's always had a 'live for today and not tomorrow' attitude towards life, and has to be physically restrained in order to keep him away from junk food.

It's a tiresome task, but someone has to do it.

The attending's lounge is mostly empty at this time of day - all six ORs are in use, surgeries scheduled one after another, but Melinda only has ten minutes left of her shift, and if no emergencies come in within the hour, she's free for the evening.

She's just checking her phone for any new emails or messages when she sees Phil hurry past the room. Turning the screen off and shoving her mobile back into her coat pocket, she quickly rises from her seat and races out to catch him before he's gone.

"Phil!"

He turns as she calls his name, and pauses, waiting for her to catch up to him.

"Are you free to maybe grab a drink or a quick bite? You finish at eight as well right?"

She places one hand softly onto his arm, and is smiling up at him as she speaks. They've been busy with work lately, and have barely seen one another, let alone have enough time to hold a decent conversation.

It's stupid really, but she misses him.

It's an unfamiliar feeling for her.

He's apologetic as he shakes his head.

"Skye's actually up in my office, waiting for me to clock off."

She nods quickly.

"Of course."

He has his priorities, and they can meet up later on in the week if they are free then. He gently pats her hands, and bends down to kiss her cheek, before racing off once more.

Going home, having a hot shower and sleeping early sounds like a better idea than ever right now.


	16. Stay With Me

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews - **May's Anatomy** is **COMPLETE** as of **25/09/2015** on AO3 and Tumblr.

* * *

 **Day 97:**

A person is most vulnerable when asleep, and to  
invite someone else to be present when you're  
unconscious, it shows an immense amount of trust.  
It's a big step, that moment when you don't let them go, and ask:  
"Stay with me?"

"What's happening down here? I had to let a second year resident close up my transplant patient."

Steve's dashing around in the ER, his hair's a mess and his yellow gown is stained red with blood, and Peggy's beside him, looking equally stressed and worn out, with a gallons worth of AB negative splashed onto her.

"And my guy's still lying on the table with his skull flap open."

Steve skids to a stop in front of Melinda and Bobbi, eye's weary and shoulders slumped forwards.

"There's some sort of flu going around, not sure what it is yet but it's spreading quick. A third of the nurses didn't show up for the last shift, and it's already spread to the interns and residents. Even a handful of attendings have called in sick."

Melinda eyes Bobbi and the Steve, and all three heave a loud sigh. To have a flu going around is definitely not uncommon, especially in a place like a hospital, but usually it doesn't spread that rapidly, especially to members of staff.

Hygiene is a priority.

And it isn't even flu season yet.

The surgeries are piling one on top of the other; with so much of the staff out sick, and the ER is growing more and more crowded by the minute, as Steve's paramedic buddy, Bucky, wheels another patient in.

"If not enough nurses turn up for the next shift, we might have to shut OR 6 down, and bump Stark's facial reconstruction."

Understaffing, strangely, is one of the biggest reasons for a decline in top notch patient care and rapid response to injuries.

"Which attendings are out for the next shift?"

"Maria, Vic and Bruce will be; they've been on call for nearly forty eight hours and if I let them operate, we might end up with several malpractice lawsuits against us. Clint didn't show up for his last shift; I don't know if he's coming in, and Natasha is supposed to replace you, but no ones seen her around either."

Melinda and Bobbi turn to one another and shrug. They have no trouble at all understanding the meaning behind Steve's words.

An attending in your specialty is away?

Absent?

Unavailable?

Goodbye sleep and hello, double the workload.

* * *

Natasha is standing outside an apartment marked 4H, and is pressing her finger insistently against the doorbell.

"Clint?"

She tries knocking against the hardwood, but there's no response.

"Clint!"

She's well aware she's almost yelling at this point, but Clint hasn't been answering his phone, and he had been acting strange the past few days.

She's worried.

"If you don't open this door right now, I'm going to bust it down!"

She's not joking, well not really, and she's not afraid of disrupting any of his neighbours by yelling either. 4G was a young businessman who at this time of day is more than likely at work, and 4F was a middle aged spinster who is probably trolling the aisles at the local supermarkets for sales.

"Clint!"

Still no response.

As much as she wants to kick his door down, it seems like it'd probably be a bitch to clean up, and she has his spare key in her pocket. She hates using it; it's like having access to one's place of solitude, and somehow it feels wrong to do so.

But he's not answering his door, and he didn't turn up to start his evening shift last night when she was coming off hers. She quickly unlocks his front door and lets herself inside.

The interior of his apartment appears normal, nothing is really out of place as far as she can tell. It's tidy; Clint enjoys cleaning, and he can be quite pedantic about how his books are ordered on the shelves, and that the forks and spoons are not mixed in the cutlery drawers. That of course, is only the beginning.

She takes the familiar path towards his bedroom, trailing her fingertips over the walls in an attempt to slow her breathing down.

"Clint?"

This time, her shout is met with a soft groan, and she can feel her heart rate increasing as she runs the last few steps to his bedroom, throwing the door open without a second thought.

The room is warm, warmer than the rest of the apartment, and the air inside is almost hard to breathe. There are balled up tissues littering the mahogany floorboards, and the sheets have been thrown off the bed, is empty save for Clint, who is curled up around a large pillow.

His hair is matted, his sweat drenched clothing adhered to his body and an expression of pain upon his face.

"Боже мой."

She's at his side in the blink of an eye, clambering up onto the bed and pressing a hand to his forehead, the other curling around his shoulder.

He's burning up, just as she suspected. He's in a fever-induced haze, and buries his face deeper into the pillow as she runs her hand over his back, trying to let him know that she is there, right beside him.

His eyes are bloodshot when he finally opens them, and his vision is blurry, but he can make out Natasha's face hovering above him.

"Nat.." he manages to croak out, before sputtering and coughing, almost uncontrollably.

She pats him gently on the back to ease the coughs out, placing her other hand back onto his forehead, her thumb and forefinger smoothing out the furrows in his brow.

"Shh. It's okay."

He looks awful; his face has taken on a sickly pallor, and yet his cheeks are still heated and red, his body temperature much too high, his breaths coming out ragged, as if it were too painful to even breathe.

"Have you taken anything? Ibuprofen, Paracetamol?"

She brushes her hand through his hair, fingers softly massaging his scalp as he nods slowly, and she nods, more for her own sake than anything. She needs to lower his temperature, get him a change of clothes, make him something to eat; anything to speed up his recovery. It's hard seeing him like this.

She moves to rise, planning to head to the bathroom and fill the tub, because he's covered in sweat and that will do nothing to help the fever, but stops when he grabs her wrist, with as much as force as he can probably muster in this state.

"Don't go."

Sighing, she unwraps his fingers from around her wrist, and rubs soothing circles into his palm with her thumb.

"I'm just going to run you a bath, okay? I'll be right back."

He shakes his head, face still half concealed against his pillow as he makes a noise akin to a whine. It's so soft that she almost misses the words he mutters, muffled against the bedding.

"You always leave me."

He's drifting off to sleep again, she can tell, just moments after he speaks. He's tired, he's feverish, she wants to tell herself that he probably doesn't know what he's saying, but it's not the first time she's heard these words from him.

She runs her hand up and down his back until she's sure he's asleep, and then quietly shifts towards the edge of the bed before easing herself off. She heads off into the bathroom, flicking on the lights because for some odd reason, he doesn't have a window in there, before moving over to the tub, plugging the drain and turning on the hot water.

The water is scalding hot as she lowers her hands in to test the temperature, but it will undoubtedly cool down by the time she manages to lug him in there. She walks back into the bedroom and begins rifling through his closet, pulling out a pair of pajamas for him to change in to.

Setting them down by the bathroom cabinet, she returns to Clint, clambering back up onto the bed beside him, and gently shaking him awake. He condition appears to have only worsened since she arrived, and it takes nearly all the strength she has in her to pull him up, supporting his entire body as they slowly shuffle towards the bathroom.

She drops him quite ungracefully into the tub, before shutting off the water, and almost wrestling his clothes off. He's rather dazed, and completely uncooperative, so she grabs a sponge and some body soap and starts cleaning him off. His eyes are closed, but he's not unconscious, his mind is more than likely blank from exhaustion.

It's a slow process, but she eventually manages to get him tucked back up in bed with fresh sheets and clean clothes, and he's sleeping soundly as she clears the mess from the floors and mops up the water that's been splashed, well, everywhere.

She's rummaging around in his kitchen in nothing more than her panties and an old t-shirt of Clint's, because half the water from the bath had ended up drenching her as she struggled to pull him from the bath.

Its cliche, plain and boring, but chicken soup is a classic and she's not sure Clint can stomach some of the things they used to feed her when she was sick, back in mother Russia. His fridge, unsurprisingly, is fully stocked, and she just throws everything into a big stock pot that sits beside the electric stove.

She keeps his bedroom door open, so she can watch to make sure he's okay whilst she cooks. By the time the soup is done, whatever medication that he'd taken earlier is more than likely already losing effect, so she pours him a glass of water, before ladling out the clear stock into a porcelain bowl.

She sets the soup and water down on his bedside table, and rummages through the drawer, fishing out a half empty bottle of pills, placing the bottle beside the water.

He probably has enough energy to feed himself, but she places one hand on his chest, forcing him to lie back against the pillows she propped up onto the headboard as she slowly spoon feeds him the soup. When the bowl is empty, she places two round tablets in his palm and hands him the water, watching closely to make sure he's swallowed before returning the water to it's original position.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asks, feeling his forehead once more.

He seems cooler now, less tense and more relaxed. She's satisfied when he nods, and she inches closer, placing a kiss to his still warm forehead.

"I'm going to head to work then, there's more soup on the stov-"

She's cut off as he grabs her, her arm this time, and he's definitely feeling better because his grip is so much stronger.

"Stay."

"Clint."

"Natasha. You know how I feel about you. Why won't you stay with me?"

He's still sick; still unwell, his grip on her is weakening with every second that passes, but she's still rooted to the spot, not by his hold but by his words.

"You don't have to love me back, just don't leave me."

The desperation in his voice is evident, and if human hearts were capable of breaking, her's just did.

"Clint."

"I'm sorry. It's the fever talking, my brain is fried."

He's looking away from her now, and she knows that he's adamant about the fact that grown men don't cry, because they've been best friends since the day they met, when he recruited her to Shield Memorial. The relationship developed a physical component not too long after, and things had been easy, until last Valentine's Day when he'd taken her out, presented her flowers and asked to take the next step. She'd expected things to end the moment she said no, but he smiled and promised he would wait, and that he did.

She doesn't know what love is, not really. But this, she supposes it feels a little like this. Clint had seemed fine, like he was okay with their arrangement; she never realised how much it must have hurt him.

She reaches out a hand and turns his head to face her, and sure enough, there are tear tracks running down his cheeks. She leans across and kisses him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and she shifts so she's straddling his lap, and he tries to push her away, because he's sick and contagious, but she resists, because American illnesses can't seem to penetrate her immune system.

When she finally pulls away, he averts his gaze, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Я не могу жить без тебя"

She knows he's comprehended her words when he smiles softly, and she moves off him, slipping into the empty spot on the other side of the bed, and pulling the covers back over the two of them.

He dozes off quickly, and she's content to listen to his ragged breaths as she curls up against him, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

Work can wait.

* * *

Melinda feels like a dead man walking when Natasha finally shows up, hours late, and she can go home and get some sleep in before her next shift begins. Steve's off too, and he's giving her a ride home, even though she's not sure he should be driving because the bags under his eyes are so heavy they might actually cause him to tip over.

They pass by Phil's office on the way out, and he's in there with Skye, checking over her homework. She waves in greeting, and the pair wave back, and she doesn't even stop to say hello, because she's so desperate to get home, she doesn't want to delay it for a moment.

And the whole Steve might collapse soon thing is a worry too.

So a wave is all they exchange, and she feels a little empty on the inside, not just physically thanks to a lack of food, but mentally, metaphorically, because she misses him, misses the contact.

But whatever they have can wait, because they both know that work is a priority.


	17. Without You

**Day 100:**

You can't choose family, you're born with them.  
I choose to believe that state is complete and  
utter crap. Anyone can become family, over  
time. Everyone needs family; an old friend, someone  
you've taken a journey with, a pet even.  
My relationship with my mother was, well, complicated  
in the beginning, but I chose to keep her in my life.

You just have to ask yourself:

Do I want to know what it's like without you here beside me?

"Are you alright?"

It feels strange for Melinda to be saying these words, to be asking this question, especially when she's directing them to Peggy, because their roles up until this point, have always been the reverse. She's never been particularly skilled at picking up on other people's emotions, but she's learning.

"I'm fine, thank you."

Peggy's voice is calm, her face relaxed, and she's carrying on as if there's nothing wrong, but there's something off. Melinda can't exactly pinpoint what is actually wrong, why Peggy is different, but she can feel it. Her gaze is a little more downcast, her stride not as wide and her head isn't tilted in it's normal position, the one that gives her a vantage point when looking down at people.

It could be any number of things that are causing this, but it's really difficult to tell.

"So why did we drive half an hour out for lunch, and where's Steve?"

Ahh, well that seems to be the crux of the issue, because Peggy flinches at the mention of Steve's name. It's so slight, barely a twitch, and anyone else may have missed it, but surgeons are trained to pick up on the smallest things, and as bad as Melinda is at reading emotions, she can see the body's physical reactions just fine.

"It's my preferred place to have a meal; I try to avoid bringing male companions, because I'm friends with one of the waitresses here and she's a little excitable."

Melinda is about to ask her what she means by excitable, when they turn a corner and reach the 1940s style diner, complete with a flashy neon sign spelling L & L Automat, above the entrance. Bobbi is waiting for them by the revolving doors, a rolled up newspaper tucked under one arm, a branded handbag slung over the other shoulder.

She turns her attention away from her phone, sliding it into the back pocket of her jeans when she sees them approach.

"Nice day to be out and about. Not cooped up in an OR," Bobbi says in greeting, and Melinda nods with a soft sigh. She hadn't appreciated LA enough back when the sun was there all year long, always stuck at the hospital working, not bothering to take time for herself, just to relax.

They enter through the revolving doors, and Peggy leads them over to her regular booth, which is surprisingly situated somewhere close to the center of the place. The diner is quite empty, only a handful of customers scattered throughout.

A waitress, whose pale blue and orange garb fits right in with the style and theme that the diner appears to have, speeds over to their table barely a minute after they've sat down, with a bright smile and a pen and pad of paper in hand.

"I was beginning to think you didn't have any friends beside me," she says, and Melinda can only guess that this 'Angie' person, as the white plastic name tag pinned onto her uniform spelled out, is the overly excitable waitress that Peggy half heartedly warned her about earlier.

Peggy rolls her eyes as she slides the menu in front of her towards Bobbi, only pretending to be annoyed at Angie's words. They place their orders, Peggy going for 'the usual' and Melinda and Bobbi just nodding along as Angie proceeds to relay a truckload of news and updates to Peggy, who appears to know exactly how to respond.

By the time the three of them each have a plateful of food and a drink each, the diner is beginning to fill up, and all the staff are dashing around serving customers.

"So, how are things between you and Lance?"

"Are you asking because you care, or because you have money riding on it."

The expression on Bobbi's face is one of mock anger, because behind the creased brows and hard stare, there's a smile trying it's best not to break out. Despite the fact that she doesn't actually appear to be mad, which would be the rational reaction if one found out their closest friends have a running bet on how disastrous their love life is, Peggy is effectively silenced, and looks down awkwardly at her plate, fingers beginning to pick at her blueberry scone.

"I'm in on the game, anonymously of course. I had hundred bucks on the wrong day last time; and I always seem to lose money, which bugs me, because this totally should have been an easy way for me to win cash. And you'd think I would have an advantage because I'm the one we're all betting on."

Her tone is lighthearted, and she smiles as she speaks, and that soothes Peggy's worries about the fact that she may have inadvertently offended her friend.

"And Hunter, he's like too many shots of vodka during a wild night out. It's amazing and fantastic, even euphoric while you're doing it, but all you're left with the next morning is a raging hangover and you swear never to do it again. But the next time you go out, you give in and it never ends."

Melinda has to admire Bobbi's stance on her relationship with her ex, but her comparison sounds scarily like an addiction, and the doctor in her wants more than anything to make sure that Bobbi is okay. But she's a grown woman, and clearly has a plethora of life experience, and from the little that Melinda does know about her, she appears to have her head firmly screwed on.

"Enough about me. How are you and Phil?"

Melinda glances cautiously down at her hands, holding a knife in one and a fork in the other, and sets them down gently against the table surface before flicking her gaze back up towards Bobbi.

Truth be told, she doesn't know how to answer that question.

After their breakfast date, where she may or may not have asked Phil a little too much about his past, they haven't gone out again. Work is busier than ever, and Skye's almost always at the hospital after school these days, because she and Phil have a routine, and the last thing Melinda wants to do is disrupt that.

She's also not sure of what their "relationship" actually is in the first place. They showed one another affection in public and private, and have had a couple dates together. She's met his daughter. They weren't "together", and they weren't exclusive, and she's in all honesty, a little confused about where they stand at the moment.

But that's hardly something she wants to share with friends over breakfast, in public no less, so she smiles and answers with a statement that's completely true, yet feels like a lie.

"We've been a little too busy with work to think about anything else."

Bobbi nods, almost knowingly, and it appears her answer is acceptable, because with that, she turns her attention to Peggy, who looks a little like a chipmunk right now, cheeks puffed out, mouth stuffed to the brim with a second scone, this one plain.

"So. How's Steve?"

* * *

When Melinda enters the attending's lounge between surgeries for quick snack in the afternoon, the room is almost completely empty, which is a rarity. But everyone is on alert, working longer and harder than usual to make up for the lack of numbers they have, thanks to those stupid infectious diseases that some of the patients keep bringing in.

The only other occupants of the lounge are Natasha and Clint, and as Melinda approaches to sit opposite them, a platter of crackers and vegetable sticks surrounding a selection of three dips in her hands, she raises a brow at Natasha.

Clint is asleep, or so she assumes, because he is currently curled up on the couch, head resting on Natasha's lap, his face turned towards her midsection, one hand fisted around the navy blue material of her shirt. Natasha has one hand just barely hovering against his side, the other running through his hair, continuously.

"What happened here?" Melinda whispers, gaze flickering between Clint's sleeping form and Natasha', who is smiling, almost sappily, as she continues rub her fingertips across his scalp.

"You don't have to worry about waking him. He sleeps like a brick. And his hearing aid is out-" she taps a finger against his ear "-and his good ear is pressed against my thigh, so he won't be able to hear you anyway."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"He's tired. He fell asleep."

"Not what I meant."

Melinda smirks as Natasha glares at her; riling her up had been quite amusing back in the day, and she's glad that hasn't changed.

"Fine. But since we're both here, why do you keep setting Steve up with women?"

"Because he's been there, done that, with men?"

"Natasha!"

Her tone is disapproving yet amused at the same time,, and Natasha laughs, slightly jostling Clint's head, but he doesn't seem to have awoken, only shuffling closer to her and burying his face against her stomach.

"Seeing Steve with other girls, I think it's making Peggy uncomfortable."

Melinda honestly didn't think that so many of her conversations with her female co-workers and friends could be about the men in their lives, and these topics were certainly not discussed back at her old hospital, at least not when she took part in the conversation anyway.

"Good."

Melinda frowns, hand pausing midway through the motion of dunking another carrot stick into the hummus.

"Forgive me for asking, but what on earth is that supposed to mean?"

There are a dozen scenarios running through her mind at the moment, and none of them seem quite right, and Natasha is looking smug all over again.

"It's a long story. And you have a surgery."

Well apparently she is going to have to wait to find out. Giving Natasha one last eyeroll, she grabs the platter and sticks it back into the fridge for whoever may want it next, and leaves the room.

The last thing she sees is Clint wrapping himself even closer and tighter around Natasha.


	18. Clarity

**Day 106:**

The human mind, like anything else in life, can have moments where,  
well, this may not be the politically correct term for it, but, malfunctions.  
When you're too focused on one aspect of life, your brain can  
sort of short out, and thoughts of all other things become inaccessible.  
Stay calm, take a moment, take a deep breath. Take some time,  
to think. Don't let yourself become too occupied with one thing,  
relax and expand your horizons. It's all a little zen.  
There'll be a moment of clarity, when you realise what's really important.

Melinda has the morning off, and if everything in life were to go her way, she'd be at breakfast with Phil, because the degree to which she misses him is almost getting painfully unbearable.

But life just likes to mess with her.

Phil's at the hospital doing what is probably an emergency procedure, because he should have had the morning off; she'd texted him earlier and he had just replied with a quick "sorry. busy. surgery." The short message and curt words hurt, and she's more than a little ashamed to admit that, but it's been nearly a month since they've spent any time together.

They went from being co-workers, to acquaintances, to sort of going out on dates together in the blink of an eye, and the attraction had been there from the beginning, for her at least.

She doesn't know what Phil is thinking, or how he feels, but to her, it feels a little like he's been avoiding her lately, which she keeps telling herself is ridiculous. Self doubt, worrying about how others see her; she doesn't believe in it, but whatever she's feeling right now seems closer to that than she's ever been.

He's busy; that's normal, they'd just happened to meet a time where he had more time on his hands, and now that life is back to the way it is, he has priorities and she just has to stop being such a child about it. She, in all honestly, is close to sitting in front of a mirror and scolding herself just for having such thoughts.

So Phil's in surgery and her mind is full of crap because the elevator ride up to Natasha's apartment is so long. She's up on the top floor with Steve; the two penthouse apartments are almost identical, separated by a wide hallway and accessible only via the lift at one end.

Natasha had invited her over, and after her morning had freed up, she'd called her to inquire if her earlier offer was still open. After another agonizing twenty seconds cooped up inside the closed-in metal room, she finally arrives on the thirty-eighth floor, and she exits the elevator, making sure to knock on the door on her right hand side and not the left.

Natasha answers the door in a t-shirt and mini shorts, her hair pinned up into a loose bun and a cheery smile on her face.

"You're here. Good. Maria's waiting in the kitchen," Natasha says as she ushers Melinda into her apartment.

Melinda's visited a couple of times before today; Natasha's apartment is decorated with a modern touch in a black and white theme. She slowly makes her way towards the kitchen, again admiring the decor as she passes by.

Natasha is only a couple steps behind her as she enters the room, and Maria is sitting on a white barstool at a large counter, where a large touchscreen has been installed on the surface.

She hops up onto a second white stool, leaving the black one between her and Maria for Natasha, who has now made her way over to the kettle, fixing a mug of hot tea for Melinda and a cup of coffee for herself.

Melinda accepts the mug with a gracious "thank you" as Natasha rejoins them, sliding easily into her seat, wrapping both hands around her own cup, suddenly adopting a serious expression and clearing her throat.

"I have gathered you here today, to bear witness to the fruit of my labour, well, okay, I need your help."

The beginning is quite dramatic, Melinda has to admit, but Natasha has difficulty keeping the suspense for too long and caves.

"As Maria and I were discussing before you got here"- Natasha's speech is evidently directed at Melinda right now "-we've been trying to get Steve a girlfriend for close to a year now."

Melinda nods, and motions for her continue with one hand, the other tightly clutching the mug filled with black tea.

"Well the girlfriend we're trying to get Steve is Peggy. He's too, well to put it bluntly, stupid, to ask her out, and I can't very well set them up. So Maria and I have been picking out girls that don't fit his dating profile, well, to subtly influence Peggy to make the first move."

Melinda wants to slam her face against the tabletop, because she's used to Natasha's meddlesome personality, and her plans more often than not, end in disaster.

She has a feeling this won't be any different.

* * *

It's the late afternoon now, and Maria had dropped Melinda and Natasha off at the hospital before heading home for some much needed sleep. Melinda can only assume that home is code for bar, and sleep is code for alcohol.

They're sitting together at one of the nurses stations, reading through a set of patient files together, but again, when Natasha is around, not much work ever gets done.

"So, now that you and Phil aren't a thing any more, are you interested in a set up?"

After Melinda had revealed that the overload of women in Steve's life bothered Peggy, she considered her plan a success and is now looking for her next conquest.

Melinda is well aware that going from daily public exchanges of affection, to barely speaking for weeks, whatever it is that she and Phil have, or had, appears as though it has ended, at least to anyone who has eyes and ears.

Stop being such a baby.

She attempts to pretend that she hasn't heard Natasha's question, concentrating on the scans in the file she is scanning. This is what matters; her career, saving people. She has to do her job before she can reward herself by seeking out things that make her personal life enjoyable; she's an adult, a grown up, she can't let herself pine over what she can't have.

"Drew from Pathology. Just say the word and you could have a date tomorrow evening."

Melinda looks up from her files, glaring at Natasha.

"Before you start meddling with my personal life, why don't you tell me what's going on between you and your boyfriend?"

"He's not my-" she pauses, huffing out a breath and pouting "-Clint and I are great."

Whatever Melinda had suspected about Natasha's relationship with Clint is confirmed by the younger woman's words. Something has changed between them, for the better, and Melinda is more than ecstatic for them, because Natasha didn't have the easiest childhood, and it's nice to see her finding someone to be by her side.

"I'm glad."

* * *

It's nearly eleven, and Melinda has just finished scrubbing out of a five hour procedure on an ageing patient. Had his family members not insisted on the surgery, she would have preferred not to operate - the risks were far too great, but she manages to save him anyway.

She's on call until eight the next morning, so all she plans to do right now is head back to her office, lock up and take a quick nap on the couch before another emergency that requires her attention turns up.

She's a little light-headed, because she skipped lunch and there wasn't time to eat before the surgery, and she stops in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the stares from people passing by as she contemplates which she needs more; sleep or food?

The code team is rushing down the hall, and she steps back, bracing herself against the wall to give them space to pass. The thought of heading upstairs and sleeping sounds very appealing right about now, but she might not have time to eat later, and she hardly wants to pass out during her next surgery.

Even a cold sandwich will do.

Pressing a hand to her forehead, she rubs at her temples, using her other arm to push herself off from the wall, and she begins her journey to the attending's lounge, just one floor down. She doesn't make it very far, because after only three steps, she hears her name being called.

It's Phil. She turns and he's walking towards her, rushing, almost running actually, speeding up as he grows closer.

She's happy to see him; he looks much better than her at this time of night, fresh and rejuvenated, and she knows that her hair is messy and there are bags under her eyes, but one's appearance is not significant, especially during a night shift at work.

She's a cardiothoracic surgeon, and she's perfectly aware that a heart can't 'flutter', but it sure feels like it when he reaches for her wrist with one hand. She manages a small smile, but it quickly fades when she notices his expression, stern and unwelcoming, a deep frown marring his forehead as he looks down at her.

Before she has a chance to say anything he's pulling her towards a supply closet, and she doesn't make a sound, not wanting to draw any more attention than his actions already have. He opens the door, tugging her inside with him, and he releases her hand as he busies himself with securing the lock on the door. She takes the few seconds he is occupied to try and calm herself, completely unsure as to how to react in this situation.

She doesn't have a chance to, because moments later, a pair of arms lock around her waist, and she finds herself being pulled tightly against Phil, her back to his chest as he buries his face into the crook of her neck.

"I'm sorry."

His warm breath tickles the back of her ear and she feels herself relaxing in his embrace as he continues whispering softly to her.

"I've missed you so much these past couple weeks, and I know it's all my fault, because I've been so busy and I haven't made any time for you and I hate myself for that."

She frowns at his final statement, and turns in his arms, which loosen their grip to allow her to do so.

"It's not your fault."

She places one hand on his cheek as she speaks, looking up into his eyes; the lighting in here is weak, but they're still a brilliant shade of blue that is quickly becoming her favourite colour.

He smiles now, finally, and he leans down a little, just so their foreheads are pressing together, and her arms hook around his neck as she presses herself closer, his hold on her tightening at the same time.

'I heard Natasha was trying to set you up with Drew from Pathology."

Gossip evidently travels far and wide here. And fast.

"She doesn't like that I'm single."

Their smiles grow, and he removes one arm from around her waist so he can stroke her cheek.

"Well, in that case, do you want to be not single? With me of course"

She almost giggles at how dorky he is, and gently nods her head, and now he's beaming down at her, and it doesn't hurt anymore. She feels so happy.

Who needs sleep or food?

She leans up and presses her lips against his, her fingers trailing up into his hair and his hands are everywhere, cupping her face, on her shoulders, around her, holding them together.

They don't leave the closet for another fifteen minutes, and when they do, her hair is even more wild than before, hanging loosely around her shoulders, and he has the biggest grin plastered onto his face.

Their fingers stay laced together, and Melinda wonders how her mother would react to her having her first real boyfriend at the age of thirty.


	19. Reason

**Day 110:**

There is a reason behind each and every choice  
that is made. The concept was difficult to grasp  
when I was younger; watching Snow White and the  
Seven Dwarves, even I as a six year old, would have made  
the choice not to let the evil witch into my house.  
Of course, that's a fairy tale movie, and choices you  
make as an adult are very different. Just remember,  
before questioning anyone's decisions, consider that there's  
reason why they did what they did.

 **Somewhere in Pennsylvania, nearly ten years ago**

"Are you sure you should be up and walking around?"

Melinda doesn't respond to Peggy, who is standing in front of her, looking more concerned than ever. Wincing, she pulls on a loose blue dress that reaches just below her knees. She's exhausted, her whole body feels as though it's on fire, but she just wants to get out of here as soon as possible.

"Melinda?"

"You're a doctor, why don't you tell me?"

Peggy gently probes at the bandage covering part of her head and sighs, grabbing Melinda's things, ignoring her protests, as she places a hand on her shoulder and slowly guides her out of the room.

Every step is painful, but she just grits her teeth and ignores it; she can only imagine what her mother would say if she saw her now. Probably something akin to; "you brought this on yourself."

Peggy doesn't try to start a conversation, and the pair remain in silence until they arrive at Peggy's temporary apartment.

"When does your residency begin?"

Melinda's grateful for the change in topic, and breathes a sigh of relief as she drops gently down onto the large arm chair at one end of the living room.

"Mid-July."

"And you'll be moving to LA next month?"

Melinda nods.

Her parents, however hyper-critical and disapproving they were of her at times, had already procured her an apartment near the hospital where she would be working at for at least the next five years, and she's looking forward to leaving this part of her life behind, and beginning the next.

"And you know I'm going back to England soon?"

Melinda realises with a pang that her only friend has already stayed in the states for quite some time now, and is due to return home soon. She's not the type of person to admit it, but she'll really miss Peggy.

"I promise to visit you in L.A when you're a hot shot surgeon."

Peggy smiles at Melinda and is surprised to see her returning the expression - it's the first time she has in so very long.

"Have you had a thought about what specialty you'd like to focus on?"

"Cardio."

* * *

 **Present Day**

It's the beginning of October now, and the drop in temperature outside is not too sudden, but it's evidently colder, and meteorologists have already warned everyone to expect an extra chilly winter this year.

Phil has never been to England, but evidently, British people have a tolerance for the cold that he does not share, because when he opens his door that evening, Jemma is standing there in a t-shirt and half length pants.

"Hello sir, you're looking smart tonight."

"Jemma. Aren't you cold?"

She shrugs, shaking her head; and he knows that is only with great control that she doesn't start spewing scientific facts about the mind and the body, because he went through all that back in medical school and she's only a third year student.

"Skye, I'm leaving now," he calls, and he waits patiently for her to finish whatever it is that she's doing in her room.

Skye comes running towards him nearly a minute later, still dressed in her the outfit she had chosen for school this morning. She has a cheeky grin on, and he can only imagine the horrors that might come out of her mouth.

"Now, just because Melinda agreed to date you, it doesn't mean anything. She can still dump you at any time, so you've got to be on your best behaviour."

If Phil were to say that he couldn't believe his nine year old daughter was giving him a lecture, along with dating advice, that would be one giant lie. Skye had always been invested in his love life, even more so after Natasha moved to town and filled her mind with all these crazy ideas.

He decides the best way to handle it is to just agree with her, so he nods, accepting her words of wisdom, and bends down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"I'll be back at ten."

She waves him goodbye, and Jemma has already escaped to the kitchen to prepare dinner, not wanting to listen in on their strange conversation.

As he exits his apartment and closes the door behind him, he hears her call out 'Don't do anything that I wouldn't do", and smacks his hand against his face.

A certain russian redhead will be getting a stern talking to the next time he sees her.

* * *

Melinda has just finished drying her hair when there's a knock on her door. It's either the pizza delivery person, or Phil, but she's willing to tip the pizza place heftily if it is them, because it's friday night and she put in the order only thirty minutes ago, just before she got in the shower.

Grabbing her wallet from her bag, she pulls out a stack of notes and hurries out of her bedroom, placing the cash into the glass bowl meant for holding her keys, before unlocking the front door.

Phil's standing there with a smug smile, and a pizza box his hands, and she reminds herself to order from a different place next time, because evidently, their delivery people are way too trusting.

"Did you threaten the pizza delivery boy and steal my food?" she asks with a smile as she lets him in, bolting the door shut behind them.

"I asked very nicely," he responds, setting the box down onto the coffee table.

She rolls her eyes at him and takes his coat, smoothing it out and placing it carefully over the back of a chair, because the material seems like it might crease and wrinkle easily. He's still standing where she left him moments ago, and she grabs his hand as she approaches, pulling him over and down onto the couch with her.

They've made sure to take the time to be together, ever since they 'defined the relationship' and he started referring to her as his girlfriend. It's been barely a week since then, and they've seen each other every day, and it's really, really, well... nice. That's the simple way to explain it.

Leaning over, she grabs the box and drops it into his lap, his hands shooting out just quickly enough to catch it before it slid off his knees and onto the floor.

"I'll be right back."

She can feel his gaze following her as she escapes into the kitchen, digging around for plates, because she doesn't want to pay to get Peggy's couch reupholstered if they managed to get pizza on to it. She also pulls a large bottle of fizzy soda from the fridge, and pours them a glass each before replacing it to it's original position.

With a glass in each hand, and two paper plates sitting on top of one of the glasses, she heads back into the lounge room, and Phil immediately rises to help her, setting the pizza box down on the table and taking the plates from where they were balancing precariously. She's about to set the glasses down when he stops her, dropping to his knees and looking around below the table, grinning triumphantly as he fishes out two coasters.

"Phil," she says, rolling her eyes as she places the glasses on to the simple looking ceramic coasters that Phil had managed to find. She hadn't even known they were there.

They both settle back down onto the coach, Phil opening the pizza box and pulling out a slice for Melinda, handing it to her on the flimsy cardboard plate, before grabbing a portion for himself.

She curls up beside him, tucking her feet beneath her and leaning into his side, and they finish off their first slices in silence, just enjoying the company.

"I know we said pizza and a movie, but I'd much rather learn more about you," Phil says as he opens the box again and fishes out another two slices.

She accepts her plate as he passes it back to her, and tilts her head to one side as she processes his words.

"What do you want to know?"

She begins to eat, slowly nibbling on the crust as he thinks about what he wants to ask her; she can almost see the questions flying around in his mind, and can only hope he doesn't ask ones she won't be able to give him an answer to.

"I don't even know where you're from."

"L.A. Before that, Philadelphia. You ever been?"

"I've been to California several times, and I've visited Philadelphia once."

They continue eating as he quizzes her on more aspects of her life, and he's delighted by every fact he learns, however small and insignificant she herself finds them. Soon, the only thing left in the box is a greasy stain, and their glasses have been drained.

He's playing with her hair as she relays to him her first solo surgery, and how it was a complete disaster in the beginning, and how the attending in charge was extremely unhelpful and unsupportive. He smiles when she gets to the end of the story, the part about where she finally got her act together and saved the man's life.

She giggles softly as he tugs at a strand, and moves in closer towards her. He rests his chin on her shoulder, and takes a deep breath, inhaling her scent.

"I know I've said this before, but you smell really nice."

She rolls her eyes at him, even though she knows that he can't see it, and prods him gently in the stomach, causing him to pull back.

"You know, that's a little bit creepy."

He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed due to her words, but she just nudges him again with another smile, and leans over, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

"Just a little."


	20. Happy Ending

**Day 118:**

 _Have you ever read a story, seen a film, watched a television program,_  
 _and gone, wow, if the story stopped here, just at this very point,_  
 _then everyone would have a happy ending? But when you read or watch on,_  
 _the character's worlds come crumbling down around them,_  
 _lives are lost, and you just wished that the story had stopped before that point._

When Natasha announces she is heading off for her monthly shopping trip for clothing purposes, Melinda, despite her knowledge surrounding the effects of spending too much time with the younger woman, tags along, because she is in a dire need of clothing for the winter months.

So here she is, sitting across from Clint outside a dressing room, waiting for Natasha to come out in what may be the seventh outfit of the hour.

It's been a pretty successful morning so far; Melinda's managed to purchase a few sweaters and a scarf or two - it's definitely more than enough for her, but Natasha's appetite for fashion is unsated, even after visiting over two dozen boutiques and stores, and buying nearly half the contents of each place, as evidenced by the multiple shopping bags by Clint's feet.

"What do you think?" Natasha calls out as she pulls back the curtain and walks towards then, doing a little turn so they can see the back as well. The question is directed at Melinda however, because Clint is useless in these situations - only smiling and nodding and telling Natasha that she is beautiful no matter what she is wearing. Which is sweet, but really doesn't help.

"Go for the green one, it matches your eyes," Melinda offers, because she's terrible with advice in general, and Natasha's already tried on three dresses of different colours in the same style.

They leave this particular store twenty minutes later, with another three bags slung onto Clint's arms as he follows behind them. Melinda only has one bag, and is more than capable of carrying it herself; Natasha on the other hand, has close to a dozen, all being lugged around by her poor boyfriend.

"Aren't you being a little mean?"

They're about three metres ahead of Clint, weaving around the busy mall, and Melinda is seriously wondering if Natasha is aware how many things she ended up buying. They both pause and turn back to Clint, letting him catch up a little before continuing.

"I like making him carry my things, it gives him purpose. Seriously, you should try it sometime."

"I can carry my own things."

Melinda is inclined to remind Natasha that Clint is not her slave or servant or butler even, and that she should really treat him with a little more respect; but it's their relationship, and she can do whatever she wants. It's definitely something Melinda will not be trying; why depend on someone else for something that you can handle, yourself.

Of course, Clint seems more than willing to follow Natasha around, and his devotion is quite sweet. She's pretty sure however, that the poor guy has a shift in a couple hours, and now would be the prime time for him to get some sleep, but instead, he's wrangling shopping bags at a mall.

"Well, I better get going," Melinda says, checking her phone.

It's almost twelve in the afternoon, and she agreed earlier on in the week to meet up with Phil and Skye for a movie. She doesn't know how appropriate it is to be spending time with his daughter so early on in their relationship , but Phil insists that she is the first girlfriend that Skye's has approved of so far, and that it'll go great.

She's not around children unless they're sick, and even then, it's the doctors in pediatrics like Phil who know how to handle them. Phil's daughter is sweet, and charming, and Melinda hopes that they'll get along well.

Phil did assure her that Skye likes the fact that he has a girlfriend now, and that she appears to like her so far, but his words may well have just been there to soothe Melinda's fears. Her track record with kids so far is awful at best, and Skye may very well decide that Melinda isn't the one for her father.

She just hopes the day will go well.

* * *

"Skye, you have to promise me you'll be on your best behaviour today."

Phil's sitting across the table from his daughter, watching as she slowly cuts another corner off her french toast and dunks it into maple syrup. She drops her fork onto her plate with a clang and crosses her arms, glaring at him.

"I already told you I liked her. I'm not going to try and sabotage your relationship."

Phil sighs, placing his own utensils gently down before leaning back into his seat.

"You know what I mean."

Skye's expression suddenly turns even more serious, and she shuffles closer, barely sitting on the edge of her chair.

"Are you scared that she won't like me?"

As playful and meddling as she acts, Phil knows his daughter. She's rambunctious, a rule breaker, and loves nothing more than messing with people, but her insecurities about how others view her have always been there.

He rises from his seat and reaches her in three strides, pulling her into his arms.

"I want you to be yourself today, alright? You are the most important to me, I want you to be happy. Always."

Phil has always made it clear that his daughter will always be his number one priority, and he knows that Melinda understands that.

"But I want you to be happy too."

Phil smiles as he holds Skye closer, one hand petting her dark hair. She's so grown up now, so mature. He's never been prouder.

"I am happy. I have you."

He frowns as she pushes him softly away, and gives him a stern expression, and he has a feeling he's about to receive another one of her lectures.

"Dad. You know I love you. But I am going to leave you one day, when I'm older and have a job and get a boyfriend, and then you'll be all alone."

He pulls one hand over his heart and pretends, well, half pretends that she's offending him, and she laughs, poking his face.

"You have to think about your own future."

He messes her hair up with one hand as he gently pulls her off her seat. He's well aware that she's completely right, but he doesn't particularly want to think about his little girl all grown up and moving out.

"Go get changed. We don't want to be late."

He watches fondly as she runs off towards her bedroom, her long brown curls flying behind her. How anyone could not love her, he doesn't know.

He hopes that today will go well.

* * *

Melinda's waiting for them by the ticket vendors at the cinema, and she greets Phil with a quick peck on the cheek because she isn't sure how appropriate it is to kiss a man while his nine year old is watching.

Skye's standing right beside them with a blank expression, and Melinda's a little confused because the girl had been so forward with her when they first met. So she turns her attentions towards, her, and bends down a little, placing her hands onto her knees to brace herself.

"Hey, your dad tells me you've been looking forward to this movie for a long time. I hope you don't mind me crashing your outing."

She speaks with as much of a smile as she can, because she's so damn nervous she might even stutter. She can feel Phil right beside them, watching the exchange, and right now, she just wants to close her eyes and find somewhere to hide because Skye is frowning.

She bites the inside of her cheek and and Phil's hand is how however against her back as they both gauge Skye's reaction.

"It's a cartoon. You might not like it. I'm sorry."

Melinda and Phil exchange a glance and Melinda cautiously reaches out a hand and places it onto Skye's shoulder; she doesn't want to overstep her boundaries or make the girl uncomfortable.

"Hey, don't apologise. I'm sure i'll enjoy it," she says, attempting to keep eye contact as she reaches her other hand into her bag, and pulls out a ten dollar bill. "But you know what'll make any movie even better? Popcorn and candy."

She offers the money to Skye, and her eyes immediately light up, but she's evidently reluctant to accept it, until Phil nods and she reaches out a hand and takes the note.

"Thank you, Melinda."

She's grinning happily now, and Melinda and Phil share a relieved smile as Skye dashes off towards the concession stands.

"You didn't have to do that you know. She was just a little upset this morning because she was afraid you wouldn't like her."

Phil takes her hand as they follow slowly behind, watching as Skye runs around, trying to figure out which snacks she wants the most.

"She's wonderful Phil."

She doesn't say much more, because there really isn't any more to add, and he looks so happy as he pulls her closer and presses a kiss to her forehead, just below her hairline. Keeping an eye on Skye, they head over and purchase tickets for the next showing, and by the time they're done, Skye's standing beside them with a giant tub of popcorn.

The movie isn't terrible, and Skye really seems to be enjoying it, happily munching on popcorn and giggling at all the right parts. Melinda tries to concentrate, but Phil's hand on her thigh tapping out the rhythm of the background music is more than distracting, and she ends up lacing their fingers together to stop him.

When the movie is over, they grab lunch two floors down at taco bell because it's a weekend and fast food is the way to go. Melinda sits down with Skye as Phil goes to the counter and places their orders, and she listens as Skye rambles on about the movie, and all the characters, and just smiles, because she looks so excited as she speaks.

Phil returns minutes later with a taco and a mini quesadilla for Skye, a salad for Melinda, a burrito for himself and a tray of nachos for them to share. Skye watches with great amusement as Melinda scrapes up the guacamole from her salad with a fork, before unceremoniously dumping it on top of the pile already sitting on the nachos.

"You don't like avocado?"

"Just a little allergic, I avoid it if I can."

Skye's eyes widen as she holds her hand up for what is presumably a hi-five.

"Me too."

Melinda reaches her hand over with her palm turned upwards and lets Skye slap hers down. Phil watches them with a smile, and Melinda feels a great sense of accomplishment as she withdraws her hand.

After lunch, they explore the shops a little, and Phil is more than delighted as he hands Melinda and Skye each an ice cream cone filled with passion fruit sorbet.

It's mid autumn and messy, but Melinda shares hers with him as he loops one arm around her waist, the other settles on Skye's shoulder, and he really wouldn't mind if every other day were like today.


End file.
